LIBRARY 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

SANTA  BARBARA 

PRESENTED  BY 

Mr.    H.    H.    KM  iani 


UCSB   LIBRARX 
V- 1^73  \ 


H.    DE    BALZAC 


THE    COMEDIE    HUMAINE 


PORTRAIT    OF    BALZAC 


H.    DE     BALZAC 


THE 

WILD  Ass'  SKIN 

(LA  PEAU  DE  CHAGRIN) 

AND   OTHER   STORIES 


TRANSLATED    BY 


ELLEN    MARRIAGE 


WITH    A    PREFACE  BY 


GEORGE    SAINTSBURY 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE  GEBBIE  PUBLISHING  Co.,  Ltd. 
1897 


CONTENTS 


PREFACE    TO   'THE    WILD  ASS1    SKIN1  ix 
BRIEF  SKETCH  OF   THE  AUTHOR         .        .         .         .13 

AUTHORS  INTRODUCTION 41 

THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN 

I.  THE  TALISMAN I 

II.   A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART 73 

III.  THE  AGONY 184 

THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE 286 

A   STUDY  OF  WOMAN 313 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


PORTRAIT  OF  BALZAC Frontispiece 

By  H.  Crickmore. 

PAGE 
A     LITTLE    OLD    MAN     TURNED     THE     LIGHT     OF    A     LAMP     UPON 

HIM 24 

Drawn  by  W.  Boucher. 

I    CANNOT    RECOLLECT    PAYING    FOR    WATER;     I    WENT    OUT    TO 

FETCH   IT   EVERY   MORNING 89 

Drawn  by  W.  Boucher. 

PAULINE    DREW    HER    HANDS  AWAY,   LAID    THEM    ON    RAPHAEL'S 

SHOULDERS,   AND   DREW   HIM   TOWARDS   HER         .  .  .      205 

Drawn  by  W.  Boucher. 

VALENTIN     HURRIEDLY     SOUGHT    THE    WILD    ASS*     SKIN    TO    SEE 

WHAT  ANOTHER  MAN'S   LIFE  HAD  COST  HIM        .  .          .     263 

Drawn  by  W.  Boucher. 


PREFACE. 

THE  "  Wild  Ass'  Skin  "  is  the  one  book  of  Balzac's  which 
it  is  difficult  for  those  who  know  it  to  approach  without  a 
somewhat  uncritical  enthusiasm.  It  is  not  faultless ;  no  book 
of  his  is,  and  this  cannot  challenge  the  epithet  even  to  the  ex- 
tent to  which  not  a  few  others  can  challenge  it.  It  is  earlier 
than  almost  any  of  the  mature  novels,  except  "  The  Chouans;" 
and  it  bears  in  some  respects  the  marks  of  its  earliness  as  well 
as,  in  others,  those  of  that  rather  artificial  scheme  of  repre- 
senting life,  which  was  so  strongly  characteristic  of  the  author, 
and  which,  while  it  helped  him  in  conceiving  the  "Comedie 
Humaine,"  imposed  a  certain  restraint  and  hamper  on  the 
"  Comedie"  itself.  We  could  spare  a  good  deal  of  the  jour- 
nalist and  other  talk  at  the  orgie;  and  more  persons  than  Emile 
have  gone  to  sleep  over,  or  have  escaped  sleep  only  by  skip- 
ping, the  unconscionable  length  of  Raphael's  story. 

But  these  are  the  merest  and  most  miserable  of  details.  In 
the  first  place,  the  conception  is  of  the  very  finest.  You  may 
call  it  a  philosophic  study,  or  you  may  not ;  you  may  class  it 
as  an  "  allegory  "  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile  or  the  Seine,  or  any 
other  river,  if  you  like.  Neither  title  will  do  it  any  harm, 
and  neither  can  explain  it  or  exalt  it  higher.  The  law  of 
Nemesis — the  law  that  every  extraordinary  expansion  or  satis- 
faction of  heart  or  brain  or  will  is  paid  for — paid  for  inevit- 
ably, incommutably,  without  the  possibility  of  putting  off  or 
transferring  the  payment — is  one  of  the  truths  about  which 
no  human  being  with  a  soul  a  little  above  the  brute  has  the 
slightest  doubt.  It  may  be  put  religiously  as,  "  Know  that 
for  all  these  things  God  will  bring  thee  into  judgment;"  or 
philosophically,  as  in  the  same  book,  "All  things  are  double, 
one  against  the  other;"  or  in  any  other  fashion  or  language. 

(ix) 


x  PREFACE. 

But  it  is  an  eternal  and  immutable  verity,  and  the  soul  of 
man  bears  witness  to  it. 

It  is  Balzac's  way  to  provide  abundant,  and  not  always 
economically  arranged  backgrounds  and  contrasts  for  his  cen- 
tral pictures ;  and  the  gaming-house  (the  model  of  how  many 
gaming-houses  since!),  the  gorgeous  disorder  of  the  curi- 
osity shop,  and  the  "  orgie "  provide  these  in  the  present 
case  lavishly  enough.  The  orgie  is  undoubtedly  the  weakest. 
It  is  only  touched  with  others  by  the  pleasant  and  good- 
humor  skit  of  Gautier  in  "  Les  Jeune-France ;"  but  the  note 
there  struck  is,  as  usual  with  "Theo,"  the  right  one.  You 
cannot  "organize"  an  orgie;  the  thing  comes  naturally  or 
not  at  all ;  and  in  the  splendors  of  Taillefer,  as  in  those  of 
Trimalchio,  there  is  a  certain  coldness. 

But  this  is  soon  forgotten  in  the  absorbing  interest  of  the 
skin  and  its  master.  The  only  adverse  comment  which  has 
ever  occurred  to  me  is,  that  one  might  perhaps  have  expected 
a  longer  period  of  indifference,  of  more  or  less  reckless  en- 
joyment of  the  privileges,  to  elapse  before  a  vivid  conscious- 
ness of  the  curse  and  of  the  penalty.  I  know  no  answer, 
unless  it  be  that  Balzac  took  the  orgie  itself  to  be,  as  it  were, 
the  wild  oats  of  Raphael's  period — in  which  case  he  had  not 
much  to  show  for  it.  But  when  the  actual  consciousness 
wakes,  when  the  Skin  has  been  measured  on  the  napkin,  and 
its  shrinking  noted,  nothing  is  questionable  any  longer.  The 
frenzied  anxiety  of  the  victim  is  not  overdone ;  the  way  in 
which  his  very  frenzy  leads  him  to  make  greater  and  ever 
greater  drafts  on  his  capital  of  power  without  any  correspond- 
ing satisfaction  is  masterly.  And  the  close  is  more  masterly 
still.  To  some  tastes  the  actual  conclusion  may  be  a  thought  too 
allegorical,  but  in  eighteen-hundred-and-thirty  your  allegory 
was  your  only  wear;  and  Gautier,  in  the  pleasant  book  above 
cited,  was  thoroughly  in  the  fashion  when  he  audaciously  put 
a  hidden  literary  meaning  on  the  merry  tale  of  "  Celle-ci  et 
celle-la."  Here,  too,  if  anywhere,  the  opposition  of  Pauline 


PREFACE.  xi 

and  Fcedora  in  this  way  is  justified.  It  softens  off  the  too 
high-strung  tragedy  of  the  catastrophe  at  the  same  time  that  it 
points  the  moral,  and  it  rounds  as  much  as  it  adorns  the  tale. 

It  has  been  observed,  in  no  carping  or  hypercritical  spirit, 
that  passages  of  the  book  are  somewhat  high-flown  in  style. 
The  fact  is  that  Balzac  had  rather  a  tendency  to  this  style,  and 
only  outgrew  it,  if  he  ever  did  outgrow  it,  by  dint  of  its 
greater  and  greater  unfitness  for  his  chosen  subjects.  Here, 
if  anywhere,  it  was  excusable,  just  as  here,  if  anywhere,  the 
gigantic  element  in  his  genius  found  scope  and  play.  There 
had  been  some  "inventories  "  in  literature  before,  and  there 
have  been  many  more  since  the  description  of  the  curiosity 
shop  ;  but  none,  if  we  except  the  brief  Shakespearian  perfec- 
tion of  that  in  Clarence's  dream,  and  none  at  all  in  a  heaped 
and  minute  style,  can  approach  this.  The  thing  is  night- 
marish— you  see  the  magots  and  the  armor,  the  pictures  and 
the  statues,  and  amongst  them  all  the  sinister  "  piece  of  shag- 
reen,"* with  the  ineffaceable  letters  stamped  on  it. 

And  so  over  all  the  book  there  is  the  note  of  the  seer,  of 
the  seer  who  sees  and  who  makes  others  see.  This  note  is 
seldom  an  idyllic  or  merely  pleasant  one ;  the  writer  who 
has  it  must  have,  even  in  such  a  book  as  the  "  Country 
Doctor,"  a  black  thread  in  his  twist,  a  sombre  background 
to  his  happy  valley.  Here  the  subject  not  only  excuses,  but 
demands  a  constant  sombreness,  a  tone  of  thunder  in  the  air, 
of  eclipse  and  earthquake.  And  the  tone  is  given.  A  very 
miserable  person  would  he  be  who  endeavored  to  pick  out 
burlesque  points  in  the  "  Wild  Ass'  Skin,"  the  most  apoc- 
alyptic of  the  novels  of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  yet  one 
of  the  most  soberly  true  in  general  theme  and  theory.  When 
one  thinks  of  the  tireless  efforts  which  have  been  made, 
especially  of  late  years,  to  "  pejorate  "  pessimism  and  blacken 

*I  hesitated  between  "  The  Piece  of  Shagreen  "  and  "  The  Wild  Ass' 
Skin  "  for  the  title,  but  Balzac's  own  remarks  decided  me.  "  The  Magic 
Skin  "  is  very  weak,  and  "  The  Skin  of  Shagreen  "  hideous. 


xii  PREFACE. 

gloom,  and  of  the  too  general  conclusion  of  yawn  or  laugh 
to  which  they  bring  us,  it  is  doubly  curious  to  come" back 
to  this  sermon  by  a  very  unpriestly  preacher  on  the  simple 
text,  "  Whom  the  gods  curse,  to  him  they  grant  the  desires 
of  his  heart." 

"The  Wild  Ass'  Skin"  appeared  first  in  August,  1831, 
published  in  two  volumes,  by  Gosselin  and  Canel,  with  a 
Preface  and  a  ' '  Moral, ' '  which  the  author  afterwards  cut  out. 
Of  its  four  chapters  or  divisions  the  first  originally  bore  the 
title  of  the  whole  book,  and  the  last  that  of  "  Conclusion," 
not  "  Epilogue,"  which  was  afterwards  affixed  to  it.  One  or 
two  fragments,  not  incorporated  in  the  finished  book,  exist, 
having  been  previously  published.  Balzac  reviewed  it  him- 
self, more  than  once,  in  the  Caricature  and  elsewhere,  both 
at  its  first  appearance  and  afterwards,  when  it  reappeared  in 
the  same  year  with  other  stories  and  a  new  preface  by  Philarete 
Chasles  as  "  Philosophical  Tales  and  Romances."  This  was 
republished  more  than  once  till,  in  1835,  it  took  rank  anew  in 
the  "Philosophical  Studies,"  while  ten  years  later,  under  the 
same  sub-title,  it  was  finally  classed  in  the  first  complete  ar- 
rangement of  the  "  Com6die  Humaine." 

"L'Elixir  de  longue  Vie"  (The  Elixir  of  Life),  in  which 
Balzac  acknowledges  (I  do  not  know  whether  by  trick  or  not) 
indebtedness  to  Hoffmann  or  somebody  else,  is  also  "style  of 
1830,"  and  to  speak  with  perfect  frankness,  would  have  been 
done  much  better  by  Merim6e  or  Gautier  than  by  Balzac. 
But  it  is  done  well. 

The  first  "  Etude  de  Femme  "  (A  Study  of  Woman)  came 
out  in  La  Mode  in  March,  1830,  next  year  at  the  end  of  the 
"  Peau  de  Chagrin,"  in  1835  (with  a  new  title,  Profi I  de 
Marquise)  in  "Scenes  de  la  vie  Parisienne."  When  the 
"  Comedie  "  was  collected  its  actual  title  was  taken  and  it 
was  given  a  position  among  the  shorter  stories. 

G.  S. 


BRIEF  SKETCH 

OF 

HONORE  DE  BALZAC. 

Honore  de  Balzac  was  born  at  Tours  on  the  2oth  of  May, 
1799.  The  family  was  a  respectable  one,  though  its  right  to 
the  particle  which  Balzac  always  carefully  assumed,  subscrib- 
ing himself  (with  dubious  correctness,  though  the  point  is  an 
argued  one)  "  de  Balzac"  was  contested.  And  there  appears 
to  be  no  proof  of  their  connection  with  Jean  Guez  de  Balzac, 
the  founder,  as  some  will  have  him,  of  modern  French  prose, 
and  the  contemporary  and  fellow-reformer  of  Malherbe. 
Indeed,  as  the  novelist  pointed  out  with  sufficient  pertinence, 
his  earlier  namesake  had  no  hereditary  right  to  the  name  at 
all,  and  merely  took  it  from  some  property.  Balzac's  father, 
who,  as  the  zac  pretty  surely  indicates,  was  a  southerner  and 
a  native  of  Languedoc,  was  fifty-three  years  old  at  the  birth 
of  his  son,  whose  Christian  name  was  selected  on  the  ordinary 
principle  of  accepting  that  of  the  saint  on  whose  day  he  was 
born.  Balzac  the  elder  had  been  a  barrister  before  the  Revo- 
lution, but  under  it  he  obtained  a  post  in  the  commissariat, 
and  rose  to  be  head  of  that  department  for  a  military  division. 
His  wife,  who  was  much  younger  than  himself,  and  who  sur- 
vived her  son,  is  said  to  have  possessed  both  beauty  and  for- 
tune, and  was  evidently  endowed  with  the  business  faculties 
so  common  among  Frenchwomen.  When  Honore  was  born, 
the  family  had  not  long  been  established  at  Tours,  where 
Balzac  the  elder  (besides  his  duties)  had  a  house  and  some 
land;  and  this  town  continued  to  be  their  headquarters  till 

(xiii) 


xiv  BRIEF  SKETCH   OF 

the  novelist,  who  was  the  eldest  of  the  family,  was  about  six- 
teen. He  had  two  sisters  (of  whom  the  elder,  Laure,  after- 
wards Madame  Surville,  was  his  confidante  and  his  only 
authoritative  biographer)  and  a  younger  brother,  who  seems 
to  have  been,  if  not  a  scapegrace,  rather  a  burden  to  his 
friends,  and  who  later  went  abroad. 

The  eldest  boy  was,  in  spite  of  Rousseau,  put  out  to  nurse, 
and  at  seven  years  old  was  sent  to  the  Oratorian  grammar 
school  at  Vendome,  where  he  stayed  another  seven  years, 
going  through,  according  to  his  own  account,  the  future  ex- 
periences and  performances  of  Louis  Lambert,  but  making  no 
reputation  for  himself  in  the  ordinary  school  course.  If,  how- 
ever, he  would  not  work  in  his  teacher's  way,  he  overworked 
himself  in  his  own  by  devouring  books ;  and  was  sent  home 
at  fourteen  in  such  a  state  of  health  that  his  grandmother 
(who,  after  the  French  fashion,  was  living  with  her  daughter 
and  son-in-law),  ejaculated,  "And  this  is  the  way  the  college 
returns  the  fine  children  we  send  her!"  It  would  seem, 
indeed,  that  after  making  all  due  allowance  for  grand- 
motherly and  sisterly  partiality,  Balzac  was  actually  a  very 
good-looking  boy  and  young  man,  though  the  portraits  of 
him  in  later  life  may  not  satisfy  the  more  romantic  expecta- 
tions of  his  admirers.  He  must  have  had  at  all  times  eyes 
full  of  character,  perhaps  the  only  feature  that  never  fails  in 
men  of  intellectual  eminence  ;  but  he  certainly  does  not  seem 
to  have  been  in  his  manhood  either  exactly  handsome  or  ex- 
actly (to  use  a  foolish-sounding  term  which  yet  has  no  exact 
equivalent  of  better  sound)  "distinguished-looking."  But 
the  portraits  of  the  middle  of  the  century  are,  as  a  rule, 
rather  wanting  in  this  characteristic  when  compared  with 
those  of  its  first  and  last  periods. 

For  a  short  time  he  was  left  pretty  much  to  himself,  and 
recovered  rapidly.  But  late  in  1814  a  change  of  official 
duties  removed  the  Balzacs  to  Paris,  and  when  they  had  estab- 
lished themselves  in  the  famous  old  bourgeois  quarter  of  the 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC.  xv 

Marais,  Honore  was  sent  to  divers  private  tutors  or  private 
schools  till  he  had  "finished  his  classes  "  in  1816  at  the  age 
of  seventeen  and  a  half.  Then  he  attended  lectures  at  the 
Sorbonne,  where  Villemain,  Guizot  aud  Cousin  were  lectur- 
ing, and  heard  them,  as  his  sister  tells  us,  enthusiastically, 
though  there  are  probably  no  three  writers  of  any  considera- 
ble repute  in  the  history  of  French  literature  who  stand  fur- 
ther apart  from  Balzac.  For  all  three  made  and  kept  their 
fame  by  spirited  and  agreeable  generalizations  and  expatia- 
tions,  as  different  as  possible  from  the  savage  labor  of  observa- 
tion on  the  one  hand  and  the  gigantic  developments  of 
imagination  on  the  other,  which  were  to  compose  Balzac's 
appeal.  His  father  destined  him  for  the  law ;  and  for  three 
years  more  he  dutifully  attended  the  offices  of  an  attorney 
and  a  notary,  besides  going  through  the  necessary  lectures 
and  examinations.  All  these  trials  he  seems  to  have  passed, 
if  not  brilliantly,  yet  sufficiently. 

And  then  came  the  inevitable  crisis,  which  was  of  an  un- 
usually severe  nature.  A  notary,  who  was  a  friend  of  the 
elder  Balzac  and  owed  him  some  gratitude,  offered  not  merely 
to  take  Honore  into  his  office,  but  to  allow  him  to  succeed 
to  his  business,  which  was  a  very  good  one,  in  a  few  years  on 
very  favorable  terms.  Most  fathers,  and  nearly  all  French 
fathers,  would  have  jumped  at  this ;  and  it  so  happened  that 
about  the  same  time  M.  de  Balzac  was  undergoing  that  un- 
pleasant process  of  compulsory  retirement  which  his  son  has 
described  in  one  of  the  best  passages  of  the  "  Works  of  His 
Youth,"  *  the  opening  scene  of  "  Argow  le  Pirate."  It  does 
not  appear  that  Honore  had  revolted  during  his  probation — 
indeed  he  is  said,  and  we  can  easily  believe  it  from  his  books, 
to  have  acquired  a  very  solid  knowledge  of  law,  especially  in 
bankruptcy  matters,  of  which  he  was  himself  to  have  a  very 
close  shave  in  future.  A  solicitor,  indeed,  told  Laure  de 
Balzac  that  he  found  "Cesar  Birotteau,"  a  kind  of  "  Balzac  on 

*  CEuvres  de  Jeunnesse. 


xvi  BRIEF  SKETCH   OF 

Bankruptcy;"  but  this  may  have  been  only  the  solicitor's 
fun. 

It  was  no  part  of  Honore's  intentions  to  use  this  knowl- 
edge— however  content  he  had  been  to  acquire  it — in  the 
least  interesting,  if  nearly  the  most  profitable,  of  the  branches 
of  the  legal  profession ;  and  he  protested  eloquently,  and  not 
unsuccessfully,  that  he  would  be  a  man  of  letters  and  nothing 
else.  Not  unsuccessfully  ;  but  at  the  same  time  with  distinctly 
qualified  success.  He  was  not  turned  out  of  doors ;  nor  were 
the  supplies,  as  in  Quinet's  case  only  a  few  month's  later, 
absolutely  withheld  even  for  a  short  time.  But  his  mother 
(who  seems  to  have  been  less  placable  than  her  husband) 
thought  that  cutting  them  down  to  the  lowest  point  might 
have  some  effect.  So,  as  the  family  at  this  time  (April,  1819) 
left  Paris  for  a  house  some  twenty  miles  out  of  it,  she  estab- 
lished her  eldest  son  in  a  garret  furnished  in  the  most  Spartan 
fashion,  with  a  starvation  allowance  and  an  old  woman  to 
look  after  him.  He  did  not  literally  stay  in  this  garret  for 
the  ten  years  of  his  astonishing  and  unparalleled  probation  ; 
but  without  too  much  metaphor  it  may  be  said  to  have  been 
his  Wilderness,  and  his  Wanderings  in  it  to  have  lasted  for 
that  very  considerable  time. 

We  know,  in  detail,  very  little  of  him  during  this  period. 
For  the  first  years,  between  1819  and  1822,  we  have  a  good 
number  of  letters  to  Laure;  between  1822  and  1829,  when  he 
first  made  his  mark,  very  few.  He  began,  of  course,  with 
verse,  for  which  he  never  had  the  slightest  vocation,  and 
almost  equally  of  course  with  a  tragedy.  But  by  degrees,  and 
apparently  pretty  soon,  he  slipped  into  what  was  his  vocation, 
and  like  some,  though  not  very  many,  great  writers,  at  first 
did  little  better  in  it  than  if  it  had  not  been  his  vocation  at 
all.  The  singular  tentatives  which,  after  being  allowed  for  a 
time  a  sort  of  outhouse  in  the  structure  of  the  "  Comedie 
Humaine,"  were  excluded  from  the  octavo  "  Edition  Defini- 
tive "  five-and-twenty  years  ago,  have  never  been  the  object 


HONORS  DE  BALZAC.  xvii 

of  that  exhaustive  bibliographical  and  critical  attention  which 
has  been  bestowed  on  those  which  follow  them.  They  were 
not  absolutely  unproductive — we  hear  of  sixty,  eighty.,  a  hun- 
dred pounds  being  paid  for  them,  though  whether  this  was 
the  amount  of  Balzac's  always  sanguine  expectations,  or  hard 
cash  actually  handed  over,  we  cannot  say.  They  were  very 
numerous,  though  the  reprints  never  extended  to  more  than 
ten. 

It  is  generally  agreed  that  these  singular  "  Works  of  His 
Youth"  were  of  service  to  Balzac  as  exercises,  and  no  doubt 
they  were  so ;  but  something  may  be  said  on  the  other  side. 
They  must  have  done  a  little,  if  not  much,  to  lead  him  into 
and  confirm  him  in  those  defects  of  style  and  form  which  dis- 
tinguish him  so  remarkably  from  most  writers  of  his  rank. 
It  very  seldom  happens  when  a  very  young  man  writes  very 
much,  be  it  book-writing  or  journalism,  without  censure  and 
without  "  editing,"  that  he  does  not  at  the  same  time  get  into 
loose  and  slipshod  habits.  And  we  may  set  down  to  this 
peculiar  form  of  apprenticeship  of  Balzac's  not  merely  his 
failure  ever  to  attain,  except  in  passages  and  patches,  a  thor- 
oughly great  style,  but  also  that  extraordinary  method  of 
composition  which  in  after  days  cost  him  and  his  publishers 
so  much  money. 

However,  if  these  ten  years  of  probation  taught  him  his 
trade,  they  taught  him  also  a  most  unfortunate  avocation  or 
by-trade,  which  he  never  ceased  to  practise,  or  to  try  to  prac- 
tise, which  never  did  him  the  very  least  good,  and  which  not  un- 
frequently  lost  him  much  of  the  not  too  abundant  gains  which 
he  earned  with  such  enormous  labor.  This  was  the  "game 
of  speculation."  His  sister  puts  the  tempter's  part  on  an 
unknown  "neighbor,"  who  advised  him  to  try  to  procure 
independence  by  a  good  speculation.  Those  who  have  read 
Balzac's  books  and  his  letters  will  hardly  think  that  he  re- 
quired much  tempting.  He  began  by  trying  to  publish — an 
attempt  which  has  never  yet  succeeded  with  a  single  man  of 


xviii  BRIEF  SKETCH    OF 

letters,  so  far  as  we  can  remember.  His  scheme  was  not  a 
bad  one  ;  indeed,  it  was  one  which  has  brought  much  money 
to  other  pockets  since,  being  neither  more  nor  less  than  the 
issuing  of  cheap  one-volume  editions  of  French  classics.  But 
he  had  hardly  any  capital ;  he  was  naturally  quite  ignorant  of 
his  trade,  and  as  naturally  the  established  publishers  and 
booksellers  boycotted  him  as  an  intruder.  So  his  "  Moliere  " 
and  his  "  La  Fontaine  "  are  said  to  have  been  sold  as  waste 
paper,  though  if  any  copies  escaped  they  would  probably 
bring  a  very  comfortable  price  now.  Then,  such  capital  as 
he  had  having  been  borrowed,  the  lender,  either  out  of  good 
nature  or  avarice,  determined  to  throw  the  helve  after  the 
hatchet.  He  partly  advanced  himself,  and  partly  induced 
Balzac's  parents  to  advance  more,  in  order  to  start  the  young 
man  as  a  printer,  to  which  business  Honore  himself  added 
that  of  typefounder.  The  story  was  just  the  same :  knowl- 
edge and  capital  were  again  wanting,  and  though  actual 
bankruptcy  was  avoided,  Balzac  got  out  of  the  matter  at  the 
cost  not  merely  of  giving  the  two  businesses  to  a  friend  (in 
whose  hands  they  proved  profitable),  but  of  a  margin  of  debt 
from  which  he  may  be  said  never  to  have  fully  cleared 
himself. 

He  had  more  than  twenty  years  to  live,  but  he  never  cured 
himself  of  this  hankering  after  a  good  speculation.  Some- 
times it  was  ordinary  stock-exchange  gambling ;  but  his 
special  weakness  was,  to  do  him  justice,  for  schemes  that  had 
something  more  grandiose  in  them.  Thus,  to  finish  here  with 
the  subject,  though  the  chapter  of  it  never  actually  finished 
till  his  death,  he  made  years  afterwards,  when  he  was  a  suc- 
cessful and  a  desperately  busy  author,  a  long,  troublesome, 
and  costly  journey  to  Sardinia  to  carry  out  a  plan  of  resmelt- 
ing  the  slag  from  Roman  and  other  mines  there.  Thus  in 
his  very  latest  days,  when  he  was  living  at  Vierzschovnia  with 
the  Hanska  and  Mniszech  household,  he  conceived  the  mag- 
nificently absurd  notion  of  cutting  down  twenty  thousand 


HO  NO  RE  DE   BALZAC.  xix 

acres  of  oak  wood  in  the  Ukraine,  and  sending  it  by  railway 
right  across  Europe  to  be  sold  in  France.  And  he  was  rather 
reluctantly  convinced  that  by  the  time  a  single  log  reached  its 
market  the  freight  would  have  eaten  up  the  value  of  a  whole 
plantation. 

It  was  perhaps  not  entirely  chance  that  the  collapse  of  the 
printing  scheme,  which  took  place  in  1827,  the  ninth  year  of 
the  Wanderings  in  the  Wilderness,  coincided  with  or  immedi- 
ately preceded  the  conception  of  the  book  which  was  to  give 
Balzac  passage  into  the  Promised  Land.  This  was  "  The 
Chouans,"  called  at  its  first  issue,  which  differed  considerably 
from  the  present  form,  "  The  Last  Chouan  or  Brittany  in 
1800"  (later  1799).  It  was  published  in  1829  without  any 
of  the  previous  anagrammatic  pseudonyms,  and  whatever  were 
the  reasons  which  had  induced  him  to  make  his  bow  in  person 
to  the  public,  they  were  well  justified,  for  the  book  was  a  dis- 
tinct success,  if  not  a  great  one.  It  occupies  a  kind  of  mid- 
dle position  between  the  melodramatic  romance  of  his  nonage 
and  the  strictly  analytic  romance-novel  of  his  later  time  ;  and, 
though  dealing  with  war  and  love  chiefly,  inclines  in  concep- 
tion distinctly  to  the  latter.  Corentin,  Hulot,  and  other  per- 
sonages of  the  actual  Comedy  (then  by  no  means  planned  or 
at  least  avowed)  appear ;  and  though  the  influence  of  Scott  is 
in  a  way  paramount  on  the  surface,  the  under- work  is  quite 
different,  and  the  whole  scheme  of  the  loves  of  Montauran 
and  Mademoiselle  de  Verneuil  is  pure  Balzac. 

It  would  seem  as  if  nothing  but  this  sun  of  popular  approval 
had  been  wanted  to  make  Balzac's  genius  burst  out  in  full 
bloom.  Although  we  have  a  fair  number  of  letters  for  the 
ensuing  years,  it  is  not  very  easy  to  make  out  the  exact 
sequence  of  production  of  the  marvelous  harvest  which  his 
genius  gave.  It  is  sufficient  to  say  that  in  the  three  years 
following  1829  there  were  actually  published  the  charming 
story  of  "  The  Sign  of  the  Cat  and  the  Racket,"  the  "  Wild 
Ass'  Skin,"  the  most  original  and  splendid,  if  not  the  most 


xx  BRIEF  SKETCH  OF 

finished  and  refined  of  all  Balzac's  novels,  most  of  the  short 
"Philosophical  Stories,"  of  which  some  are  among  their 
author's  greatest  triumphs,  many  other  stories  (chiefly  included 
in  the  "Scenes  of  Private  Life,") and  the  beginning  of  the 
"Droll  Stories." 

It  is  well  known  that  from  the  time  almost  of  his  success  as 
a  novelist  he  was  given,  like  too  many  successful  novelists 
(not  like  Scott),  to  rather  undignified  and  foolish  attacks  on 
critics.  The  explanation  may  or  may  not  be  found  in  the 
fact  that  we  have  abundant  critical  work  of  his,  and  that  it  is 
nearly  all  bad.  Now  and  then  we  have  an  acute  remark  in 
his  own  special  sphere ;  but  as  a  rule  he  cannot  be  compli- 
mented on  these  performances,  and  when  he  was  half-way 
through  his  career  this  critical  tendency  of  his  culminated  in 
the  unlucky  Revue  Parisienne,  which  he  wrote  almost  entirely 
himself,  with  slight  assistance  from  his  friends,  MM.  de 
Belloy  and  de  Grammont.  It  covers  a  wide  range,  but  the 
literary  part  of  it  is  considerable,  and  this  part  contains  that 
memorable  and  disastrous  attack  on  Sainte-Beuve,  for  which 
the  critic  afterwards  took  a  magnanimous  revenge  in  his 
obituary  chat.  Although  the  thing  is  not  quite  unex- 
ampled, it  is  not  easily  to  be  surpassed  in  the  blind  fury  of  its 
abuse.  Sainte-Beuve  was  by  no  means  invulnerable,  and  an 
anti-critic  who  kept  his  head  might  have  found,  as  M.  de 
Pontmartin  and  others  did  find,  the  joints  in  his  armor.  But 
when,  apropos  of  the  "  Port  Royal  "  more  especially,  and  of 
the  other  works  in  general,  Balzac  informs  us  that  Sainte- 
Beuve's  great  characteristic  as  a  writer  is  tediousness,  tedi- 
ousness  knee-deep — that  his  style  is  intolerable,  that  his 
historical  handling  is  like  that  of  Gibbon,  Hume  and  other 
dull  people,  when  he  jeers  at  him  for  exhuming  "The  Holy 
Mother,"  and  scolds  him  for  presuming  to  obscure  the 
glory  of  the  "  Sun  King,"  the  thing  is  partly  ludicrous, 
partly  melancholy.  One  remembers  that  agreeable  Bohemian, 
who  at  a  symposium  once  interrupted  his  host  by  crying, 


HONOR  £   DE  BALZAC.  xxi 

"  Man  o'  the  hoose,  gie  us  less  o'  yer  clack  and  mair  o'  yer 
Jairman  wine ! "  Only  in  human  respect  and  other,  we 
phrase  it:  "  Oh,  dear  M.  de  Balzac  !  give  us  more  '  Eugenie 
Grandets,'  more  '  Pere  Goriots,'  more  '  Peaux  de  Chagrin,' 
and  don't  talk  about  what  you  do  not  understand  !  " 

Balzac  was  a  great  politician  also,  and  here,  though  he 
may  not  have  been  very  much  more  successful,  he  talked  with 
more  knowledge  and  competence.  He  must  have  given  him- 
self immense  trouble  in  reading  the  papers,  foreign  as  well  as 
French  ;  he  had  really  mastered  a  good  deal  of  the  political 
religion  of  a  French  publicist.  It  is  curious  to  read,  sixty 
years  after  date,  his  grave  assertion  that  "  France  should  make 
a  conquest  of  Madagascar,"  and  with  certain  very  pardonable 
defects  (such  as  his  Anglophobia),  his  politics  may  be  pro- 
nounced not  unintelligent  and  not  ungenerous,  though  some- 
what inconsistent  and  not  very  distinctly  traceable  to  any 
coherent  theory.  As  for  the  Anglophobia,  the  Englishman 
who  thinks  the  less  of  him  for  that  must  have  very  poor  and 
unhappy  brains.  A  Frenchman  who  does  not  more  or 
less  hate  and  fear  England,  an  Englishman  who  does  not 
regard  France  with  a  more  or  less  good-humored  impatience, 
is  usually  "  either  a  god  or  a  beast,"  as  Aristotle  saith.  Bal- 
zac began  with  an  odd  but  not  unintelligible  compound, 
something  like  Hugo's,  of  Napoleonism  and  Royalism.  In 
1824,  when  he  was  still  in  the  shades  of  anonymity,  he  wrote 
and  published  two  by  no  means  despicable  pamphlets  in  favor 
of  primogeniture  and  the  Jesuits,  the  latter  of  which  was 
reprinted  in  1880  at  the  last  Jesuitical  Congress  in  France. 
His  "Letters  on  Paris,"  in  1830-31,  and  his  "France  and 
the  Foreigner,"  in  1836,  are  two  considerable  series  of  letters 
from  "  Our  Own  Correspondent,"  handling  the  affairs  of  the 
world  with  boldness  and  industry  if  not  invariably  with  wis- 
dom. They  rather  suggest  (as  does  the  later  Revue  Parisicnnc 
still  more)  the  political  writing  of  the  age  of  Anne  in  Eng- 
land, and  perhaps  a  little  later,  when  "the  wits"  handled 


xxii  BRIEF  SKETCH  OF 

politics  and  society,   literature  and    things  in  general  with 
unquestioned  competence  and  an  easy  universality. 

Besides  this  work  in  books,  pamphlets,  etc.,  Balzac,  as  has 
been  said,  did  a  certain  amount  of  journalism,  especially  in 
the  Caricature,  his  performances  including,  we  regret  to  say, 
more  than  one  puff  of  his  own  work;  and  in  this,  as  well  as 
by  the  success  of  "The  Chouans,"  he  became  known  about 
1830  to  a  much  wider  circle,  both  of  literary  and  of  private 
acquaintance.  It  cannot  indeed  be  said  that  he  ever  mixed 
much  in  society  ;  it  was  impossible  that  he  should  do  so,  con- 
sidering the  vast  amount  of  work  he  did  and  the  manner  in 
which  he  did  it.  This  subject,  like  that  of  his  speculations, 
may  be  better  finished  off  in  a  single  passage  than  dealt  with 
by  scattered  indications  here  and  there.  He  was  not  one  of 
those  men  who  can  do  work  by  fits  and  starts  in  the  intervals 
of  business  or  of  amusement ;  nor  was  he  one  who,  like  Scott, 
could  work  very  rapidly.  It  is  true  that  he  often  achieved 
immense  quantities  of  work  (subject  to  a  caution  to  be  given 
presently)  in  a  very  few  days,  but  then  his  working  day  was 
of  the  most  peculiar  character.  He  could  not  bear  disturb- 
ance;  he  wrote  (as  probably  most  people  do)  best  at  night, 
and  he  could  not  work  at  all  after  heavy  meals.  His  favorite 
plan  (varied  sometimes  in  detail)  was  therefore  to  dine  lightly 
about  five  or  six,  then  to  go  to  bed  and  sleep  till  eleven, 
twelve,  or  one,  and  then  to  get  up,  and  with  the  help  only  of 
coffee  (which  he  drank  very  strong  and  in  enormous  quanti- 
ties) to  work  for  indefinite  stretches  of  time  into  the  morning 
or  afternoon  of  the  next  day.  He  speaks  of  a  sixteen  hours' 
day  as  a  not  uncommon  shift  or  spell  of  work,  and  almost  a 
regular  one  with  him  ;  and  on  one  occasion  he  avers  that  in 
the  course  of  forty-eight  hours  he  took  but  three  of  rest, 
working  for  twenty-two  hours  and  a  half  continuously  on  each 
side  thereof.  In  such  spells,  supposing  reasonable  facility  of 
composition,  and  mechanical  power  in  the  hand  to  keep  going 
all  the  time,  an  enormous  amount  can  of  course  be  accom- 


HONORS   DE  BALZAC.  xxiii 

plished.  A  thousand  words  an  hour  is  anything  but  an  extra- 
ordinary rate  of  writing,  and  fifteen  hundred  by  no  means 
unheard  of  with  persons  who  do  not  write  rubbish. 

The  references  to  this  subject  in  Balzac's  letters  are  very 
numerous;  but  it  is  not  easy  to  extract  very  definite  informa- 
tion from  them.  It  would  be  not  only  impolite  but  incorrect 
to  charge  him  with  unveracity.  But  the  very  heat  of  imagi- 
nation which  enabled  him  to  produce  his  work  created  a  sort 
of  mirage,  through  which  he  seems  always  to  have  regarded 
it  ;  and  in  writing  to  publishers,  editors,  creditors,  and  even 
his  own  family,  it  was  too  obviously  his  interest  to  make  the 
most  of  his  labor,  his  projects,  and  his  performance.  Even 
his  contemporary,  though  elder,  Southey,  the  hardest-working 
and  the  most  scrupulously  honest  man  of  letters  in  England 
who  could  pretend  to  genius,  seems  constantly  to  have  exag- 
gerated the  idea  of  what  he  could  perform,  if  not  of  what  he 
had  performed  in  a  given  time.  The  most  definite  statement 
of  Balzac's  is  one  which  claims  the  second  number  of  "Sur 
Catherine  de  Medicis"  ("  La  Confidence  des  Ruggieri  ")  as 
the  production  of  a  single  night,  and  not  one  of  the  most 
extravagant  of  his  nights.  Now,  "  La  Confidence  des  Rug- 
gieri "  fills,  in  the  small  edition,  eighty  pages  of  nearer  four 
hundred  than  three  hundred  words  each,  or  some  thirty  thou- 
.  sand  words  in  all.  Nobody  in  the  longest  of  nights  could 
manage  that,  except  by  dictating  it  to  shorthand  clerks.  But 
in  the  very  context  of  this  assertion  Balzac  assigns  a  much 
longer  period  to  the  correction  than  to  the  composition,  and 
this  brings  us  to  one  of  the  most  curious  and  one  of  the  most 
famous  points  of  his  literary  history. 

Some  doubts  have  been  thrown  on  the  most  minute  account 
of  his  ways  of  composition  which  we  have,  that  of  the  pub- 
lisher Werdet.  But  there  is  too  great  a  consensus  of  evidence 
as  to  his  general  system  to  make  the  received  description  of 
it  doubtful.  According  to  this,  the  first  draft  of  Balzac's 
work  never  presented  it  in  anything  like  fulness,  and  some- 


xxiv  BRIEF  SKETCH  OF 

times  did  not  amount  to  a  quarter  of  the  bulk  finally  pub- 
lished. This  being  returned  to  him  from  the  printer  "  in 
slip"  on  sheets  with  very  large  margins,  he  would  set  to 
work  on  the  correction  ;  that  is  to  say,  on  the  practical  re- 
writing of  the  thing,  with  excisions,  alterations,  and  above 
all,  additions.  A  "  revise  "  being  executed,  he  would  attack 
this  revise  in  the  same  manner,  and  not  unfrequently  more 
than  once,  so  that  the  expenses  of  mere  composition  and 
correction  of  the  press  were  enormously  heavy  (so  heavy  as  to 
eat  into  not  merely  his  publisher's  but  his  own  profits),  and 
that  the  last  state  of  the  book,  when  published,  was  something 
utterly  different  from  its  first  state  in  manuscript.  And  it 
will  be  obvious  that  if  anything  like  this  was  usual  with  him, 
it  is  quite  impossible  to  judge  his  actual  rapidity  of  composi- 
tion by  the  extent  of  the  published  result. 

However  this  may  be  (and  it  is  at  least  certain  that  in  the 
years  above  referred  to  he  must  have  worked  his  very  hardest, 
even  if  some  of  the  work  then  published  had  been  more  or 
less  excogitated  and  begun  during  the  wilderness  period),  he 
certainly  so  far  left  his  eremitical  habits  as  to  become  ac- 
quainted with  most  of  the  great  men  of  letters  of  the  early 
thirties,  and  also  with  certain  ladies  of  more  or  less  high 
rank,  who  were  to  supply,  if  not  exactly  the  full  models,  the 
texts  and  starting-points  for  some  of  the  most  interesting 
figures  of  the  "Comedie."  He  knew  Victor  Hugo,  but 
certainly  not  at  this  time  intimately  ;  for  as  late  as  1839  the 
letter  in  which  he  writes  to  Hugo  to  come  and  breakfast  with 
him  at  Les  Jardies  (with  interesting  and  minute  directions 
how  to  find  that  frail  abode  of  genius)  is  couched  in  anything 
but  the  tone  of  a  familiar  friendship.  The  letters  to  Beyle 
of  about  the  same  date  are  also  incompatible  with  intimate 
knowledge.  Nodier  (after  some  contrary  expressions)  he 
seems  to  have  regarded  as  most  good  people  did  regard  that 
true  man  of  letters  and  charming  tale-teller  ;  while  among  the 
younger  generation  Theophile  Gautier  and  Charles  de  Bernard* 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC.  xxv 

as  well  as  Gozlan  and  others,  were  his  real  and  constant 
friends.  But  he  does  not  figure  frequently  or  eminently  in 
any  of  the  genuine  gossip  of  the  time  as  a  haunter  of  literary 
circles,  and  it  is  very  nearly  certain  that  the  assiduity  with 
which  some  of  his  heroes  attend  salons  and  clubs  had  no 
counterpart  in  his  own  life.  In  the  first  place  he  was  too 
busy ;  in  the  second  he  would  not  have  been  at  home  there. 
Like  the  young  gentleman  in  Punch,  who  "  did  not  read 
books  but  wrote  them,"  though  in  no  satiric  sense,  he  felt  it 
his  business  not  to  frequent  society  but  to  create  it. 

He  was,  however,  aided  in  the  task  of  creation  by  the  ladies 
already  spoken  of,  who  were  fairly  numerous  and  of  divers 
degrees.  The  most  constant  after  his  sister  Laure  was  that 
sister's  schoolfellow,  Madame  Zulma  Carraud,  the  wife  of  a 
military  official  at  Angouleme  and  the  possessor  of  a  small 
country  estate  at  Frapesle,  near  Tours.  At  both  of  these 
places  Balzac,  till  he  was  a  very  great  man,  was  a  constant 
visitor,  and  with  Madame  Carraud  he  kept  up  for  years  a 
correspondence  which  has  been  held  to  be  merely  friendly, 
and  which  was  certainly  in  the  vulgar  sense  innocent,  but 
which  seems  to  us  to  be  tinged  with  something  of  that  feeling, 
midway  between  love  and  friendship,  which  appears  in  Scott's 
letters  to  Lady  Abercorn,  and  which  is  probably  not  so  rare 
as  some  think.  Madame  de  Berny,  another  family  friend  of 
higher  rank,  was  the  prototype  of  most  of  his  "angelic" 
characters,  but  she  died  in  1836.  He  knew  the  Duchess 
d'Abrantes,  otherwise  Madame  Junot,  and  Madame  deGirardin, 
otherwise  Delphine  Gay ;  but  neither  seems  to  have  exercised 
much  influence  over  him.  It  was  different  with  another  and 
more  authentic  duchess,  Madame  de  Castries,  after  whom  he 
dangled  for  a  considerable  time,  who  certainly  first  encour- 
aged him  and  probably  then  snubbed  him,  and  who  is 
thought  to  have  been  the  model  of  his  wickeder  great 
ladies.  And  it  was  comparatively  early  in  the  thirties  that 
he  met  the  woman  whom,  after  nearly  twenty  years, 


xxvi  BRIEF  SKETCH   OF 

he  was  at  last  to  marry,  getting  his  death  in  so  doing,  the 
Polish  Madame  Hanska.  These,  with  some  relations  of  the 
last  named,  especially  her  daughter,  and  with  a  certain 
"Louise" — an  unknown  who  never  ceased  to  be  so — were 
Balzac's  chief  correspondents  of  the  other  sex,  and  as  far 
as  is  known,  his  chief  friends  in  it. 

About  his  life,  without  extravagant  "padding"  of  guess- 
work or  of  mere  quotation  and  abstract  of  his  letters,  it 
would  be  not  so  much  difficult  as  impossible  to  say  much; 
and  accordingly  it  is  a  matter  of  fact  that  most  lives  of 
Balzac,  including  all  good  ones,  are  rather  critical  than 
narrative.  From  his  real  debut  with  "The  Last  Chouan  " 
to  his  departure  for  Poland  on  the  long  visit,  or  brace  of 
visits,  from  which  he  returned  finally  to  die,  this  life  con- 
sisted  solely  of  work.  One  of  his  earliest  utterances,  "  I  must 
keep  digging  away,"  was  his  motto  to  the  very  last,  varied 
only  by  a  certain  amount  of  traveling.  Balzac  was  always 
a  considerable  traveler ;  indeed  if  he  had  not  been  so  his 
constitution  would  probably  have  broken  down  long  before 
it  actually  did  ;  and  the  expense  of  these  voyagings  (though 
by  his  own  account  he  generally  conducted  his  affairs  with 
the  most  rigid  economy),  together  with  the  interruption  to 
his  work  which  they  occasioned,  entered  no  doubt  for  some- 
thing into  his  money  difficulties.  He  would  go  to  Baden 
or  Vienna  for  a  day's  sight  of  Madame  Hanska;  his  Sar- 
dinian visit  has  been  already  noted  ;  and  as  a  specimen  of 
others  it  may  be  mentioned  that  he  once  journeyed  from 
Paris  to  Besancon,  then  from  Besancon  right  across  France 
to  Angouleme,  and  then  back  to  Paris  on  some  business  of 
selecting  paper  for  one  of  the  editions  of  his  books,  which 
his  publishers  would  probably  have  done  much  better  and  at 
much  less  expense. 

Still  his  actual  receipts  were  surprisingly  small,  partly,  it 
may  be,  owing  to  his  expensive  habits  of  composition,  but 
far  more,  according  to  his  own  account,  because  of  the 


HO  NO  RE   DE   BALZAC.  xxvii 

Belgian  piracies,  from  which  all  popular  French  authors 
suffered  till  the  government  of  Napoleon  the  Third  managed 
to  put  a  stop  to  them.  He  also  lived  in  such  a  thick  atmos- 
phere of  bills  and  advances  and  cross-claims  on  and  by  his 
publishers,  that  even  if  there  were  more  documents  than  there 
are  it  would  be  exceedingly  difficult  to  get  at  facts  which  are, 
after  all,  not  very  important.  He  never  seems  to  have  been 
paid  much  more  than  $2500  for  the  newspaper  publication 
(the  most  valuable  by  far  because  the  pirates  could  not  inter- 
fere with  its  profits)  of  any  one  of  his  novels.  And  to 
expensive  fashions  of  composition  and  complicated  accounts, 
a  steady  back-drag  of  debt  and  the  rest,  must  be  added  the 
very  delightful,  and  to  a  novelist  not  useless,  but  very  expen- 
sive mania  of  the  collector.  Balzac  had  a  genuine  taste  for, 
and  thought  himself  a  genuine  connoisseur  in,  pictures, 
sculpture,  and  objects  of  art  of  all  kinds,  old  and  new ;  and 
though  prices  in  his  day  were  not  what  they  are  in  these,  a 
great  deal  of  money  must  have  run  through  his  hands  in  this 
way.  He  calculated  the  value  of  the  contents  of  the  house, 
which  in  his  last  days  he  furnished  with  such  loving  care  for 
his  wife,  and  which  turned  out  to  be  a  chamber  rather  of 
death  than  of  marriage,  at  some  $80,000.  But  part  of  this 
was  of  Madame  Hanska's  own  purchasing,  and  there  were 
offsets  of  indebtedness  against  it  almost  to  the  last.  In 
short,  though  during  the  last  twenty  years  of  his  life  such 
actual  "  want  of  pence  "  as  vexed  him  was  not  due,  as  it  had 
been  earlier,  to  the  fact  that  the  pence  refused  to  come 
in,  but  only  to  imprudent  management  of  them,  it  certainly 
cannot  be  said  that  Honore  de  Balzac,  the  most  desperately 
hard  worker  in  all  literature  for  such  time  as  was  allotted 
him,  and  perhaps  the  man  of  greatest  genius  who  was  ever  a 
desperately  hard  worker,  falsified  that  most  uncomfortable  but 
truest  of  proverbs,  "  Hard  work  never  made  money." 

If,  however,  he  was  but  scantily  rewarded  with  the  money 
for  which  he  had  a  craving  (not  absolutely  devoid  of  a  touch 


xxviii  BRIEF  SKETCH  OF 

of  genuine  avarice,  but  consisting  chiefly  of  the  artist's  desire 
for  pleasant  and  beautiful  things,  and  partly  presenting  a 
variety  or  phase  of  the  grandiose  imagination,  which  was  his 
ruling  characteristic),  Balzac  had  plenty  of  the  fame,  for 
which  he  cared  quite  as  much  as  he  cared  for  money.  Per- 
haps no  writer  except  Voltaire  and  Goethe  earlier  made  such 
a  really  European  reputation  ;  and  his  books  were  of  a  kind 
to  be  more  widely  read  by  the  general  public  than  either 
Goethe's  or  Voltaire's.  In  England,  this  popularity  was,  for 
obvious  reasons,  rather  less  than  elsewhere.  The  respectful 
vogue  which  French  literature  had  had  in  England  in  the 
eighteenth  century  had  ceased,  owing  partly  to  the  national 
enmity  revived  and  fostered  by  the  great  war,  and  partly  to 
the  growth  of  a  fresh  and  magnificent  literature  at  home  dur- 
ing the  first  thirty  years  of  the  nineteenth.  But  Balzac  could 
not  fail  to  be  read  almost  at  once  by  the  lettered ;  and  he 
was  translated  pretty  early,  though  not  perhaps  to  any  great 
extent. 

It  was  in  England,  it  may  be  said,  that  by  far  his  greatest 
follower  appeared,  and  appeared  very  shortly.  For  it  would 
be  absurd  in  the  most  bigoted  admirer  of  Thackeray  to  deny 
that  the  author  of  "Vanity  Fair,"  who  was  in  Paris  and 
narrowly  watching  French  literature  and  French  life  at  the 
very  time  of  Balzac's  most  exuberant  flourishing  and  educa- 
tion, owed  something  to  the  author  of  "Father  Goriot." 
There  was  no  copying  or  imitation ;  the  lessons  taught  by 
Balzac  were  too  much  blended  with  those  of  native  masters, 
such  as  Fielding,  too  much  informed  and  transformed  by  indi- 
vidual genius.  Some  may  think — it  is  a  point  at  issue  not 
merely  between  Frenchmen  and  Englishmen,  but  between 
good  judges  of  both  nations  on  each  side — that  in  absolute 
veracity  and  likeness  to  life,  in  limiting  the  operation  of  the 
inner  consciousness  on  the  outward  observation  to  strictly 
artistic  scale,  Thackeray  excelled  Balzac  as  far  as  he  fell  short 
of  him  in  the  powers  of  the  seer  and  in  the  gigantic  imagina- 


HO  NO  RE  DE   BALZAC.  xxix 

tion  of  the  prophet.  But  the  relations  of  pupil  and  master  in 
at  least  some  degree  are  not  deniable. 

So  things  went  on  in  light  and  in  shade,  in  home-keeping 
and  in  travel,  in  debts  and  in  earnings,  but  always  in  work  of 
some  kind  or  another,  for  eighteen  years  from  the  turning 
point  of  1829.  By  degrees  he  gained  fame  and  ceased  to  be 
in  the  most  pressing  want  of  money,  Balzac  left  off  to  some 
extent,  though  never  entirely,  those  miscellaneous  writings — 
reviews  (including  puffs),  comic  or  general  sketches,  political 
diatribes,  "physiologies"  and  the  like — which  with  his  dis- 
carded prefaces  and  much  other  interesting  matter,  were  at 
last,  not  many  years  ago,  included  in  four  stout  volumes  of 
the  "  Edition  Definitive."  With  the  exception  of  the  "  Physi- 
ologies "  (a  sort  of  short  satiric  analysi?  of  this  or  that  class, 
character  or  personage),  which  were  very  popular  in  the  reign 
of  Louis  Philippe  in  France,  and  which  Albert  Smith  and 
others  introduced  into  England,  Balzac  did  not  do  any  of  this 
miscellaneous  work  extremely  well.  Very  shrewd  observations 
are  to  be  found  in  his  reviews,  for  instance,  his  indication,  in 
reviewing  La  Touche's  "  Fragoletta,"  of  that  common  fault 
of  ambitious  novels,  a  sort  of  woolly  and  '"  ungraspable " 
looseness  of  construction  and  story,  which  const:  ntly  bewilders 
the  reader  as  to  what  is  going  on.  But,  as  a  rule>  he  was  think- 
ing too  much  of  his  own  work  and  his  own  principles  of 
working  to  enter  very  thoroughly  into  the  work  of  others.  His 
politics,  those  of  a  moderate  but  decided  Royalist  and  Con- 
servative, were,  as  has  been  said,  intelligent  in  theory,  but  in 
practice  a  little  distinguished  by  that  neglect  of  actual  busi- 
ness detail  which  has  been  noticed  in  his  speculations. 

At  last,  in  the  summer  of  1847,  it  seemed  as  if  the  Rachel 
for  whom  he  had  served  nearly  if  not  quite  the  full  fourteen 
years  already,  and  whose  husband  had  long  been  out  of  the 
way,  would  at  last  grant  herself  to  him.  He  was  invited  to 
Vierzschovnia  in  the  Ukraine,  the  seat  of  Madame  Hanska,  or 
in  strictness  of  her  son-in-law,  Count  Georges  Mniszech ;  and 


xxx  BRIEF  SKETCH  OF 

as  the  visit  was  apparently  for  no  restricted  period,  and  Bal- 
zac's pretensions  to  the  lady's  hand  were  notorious,  it  might 
have  seemed  that  he  was  as  good  as  accepted.  But  to  assume 
this  would  have  been  to  mistake  what  perhaps  the  greatest 
creation  of  Balzac's  great  English  contemporary  and  coun- 
terpart on  the  one  side,  as  Thackeray  was  his  contemporary 
and  counterpart  on  the  other,  considered  to  be  the  malignity 
of  widows.  What  the  reasons  were  which  made  Madame 
Hanska  delay  so  long  in  doing  what  she  did  at  last,  and  might 
just  as  well,  it  would  seem,  have  done  years  before,  is  not 
certainly  known,  and  it  would  be  quite  unprofitable  to  discuss 
them.  But  it  was  on  the  8th  of  October,  1847,  tnat  Balzac 
first  wrote  to  his  sister  from  Vierzschovnia,  and  it  was  not  till 
the  i4th  of  March,  1850,  that,  "  in  the  parish  church  of  Saint 
Barbara  at  Berditchef,  by  the  Count  Abbe  Czarski,  represent- 
ing the  Bishop  of  Jitomir  [this  as  characteristic  of  Balzac  in 
one  way  as  what  follows  is  in  another],  a  Madame  Eve  de 
Balzac,  born  Countess  Rzevuska,  or  a  Madame  Honore  de 
Balzac  or  a  Madame  de  Balzac  the  elder  "  came  into  existence. 
It  does  not  appear  that  Balzac  was  exactly  unhappy  during 
this  huge  probation,  which  was  broken  by  one  short  visit  to 
Paris.  The  interest  of  uncertainty  was  probably  much  for  his 
ardent  and  unquiet  spirit,  and  though  he  did  very  little  literary 
work  for  him,  one  may  suspect  that  he  would  not  have  done 
very  much  if  he  had  stayed  at  Paris,  for  signs  of  exhaustion, 
not  of  genius  but  of  physical  power,  had  shown  themselves 
before  he  left  home.  But  it  is  not  unjust  or  cruel  to  say  that 
by  the  delay  "  Madame  Eve  de  Balzac  "  (her  actual  baptismal 
name  was  Evelina)  practically  killed  her  husband.  These 
winters  in  the  severe  climate  of  Russian  Poland  were  abso- 
lutely fatal  to  a  constitution,  and  especially  to  lungs  already 
deeply  affected.  At  Vierzschovnia  itself  he  had  illnesses,  from 
which  he  narrowly  escaped  with  life,  before  the  marriage;  his 
heart  broke  down  after  it ;  and  he  and  his  wife  did  not  reach 
Paris  till  the  end  of  May.  Less  than  three  months  afterwards, 


HONORE   DE   BALZAC.  xxxi 

on  the  i8th  of  August,  he  died,  having  been  visited  on  the 
very  day  of  his  death  in  the  Paradise  of  bric-a-brac  which  he 
had  created  for  his  Eve  in  the  Rue  Fortunee — a  name  too 
provocative  of  Nemesis — by  Victor  Hugo,  the  chief  maker  in 
verse  as  he  himself  was  the  chief  maker  in  prose  of  France. 
He  was  buried  at  Pere  la  Chaise.  The  after  fortunes  of  his 
house  and  its  occupants  were  not  happy  ;  but  they  do  not 
concern  us. 

In  person  Balzac  was  a  typical  Frenchman,  as  indeed  he 
was  in  most  ways.  From  his  portraits  there  would  seem  to 
have  been  more  force  and  address  than  distinction  or  refine- 
ment in  his  appearance,  but,  as  has  been  already  observed,  his 
period  was  one  ungrateful  to  the  iconographer.  His  charac- 
ter, not  as  a  writer,  but  as  a  man,  must  occupy  us  a  little 
longer.  For  some  considerable  time — indeed  it  may  be  said 
until  the  publication  of  his  letters — it  was  not  very  favorably 
judged  on  the  whole.  We  may,  of  course,  dismiss  the  childish 
scandals  (arising,  as  usual,  from  clumsy  or  malevolent  misin- 
terpretation), which  gave  rise  to  caricatures  of  him  such  as 
that  of  which  we  read,  representing  him  in  a  monk's  dress  at 
a  table  covered  with  bottles  and  supporting  a  young  person 
on  his  knee,  the  whole  garnished  with  the  epigraph  :  "  Scenes 
of  Hidden  Life."  They  seem  to  have  given  him,  personally, 
a  very  unnecessary  annoyance,  and  indeed  he  was  always 
rather  sensitive  to  critcism.  This  kind  of  stupid  libel  will 
never  cease  to  be  devised  by  the  envious,  swallowed  by  the 
vulgar,  and  simply  neglected  by  the  wise.  But  Balzac's 
peculiarities,  both  of  life  and  of  work,  lent  themselves  rather 
fatally  to  a  subtler  misconstruction  which  he  also  anticipated 
and  tried  to  remove,  but  which  took  a  far  stronger  hold.  He 
was  represented — and  in  the  absence  of  any  intimate  male 
friends  to  contradict  the  representation,  it  was  certain  to 
obtain  some  currency — as  in  his  artistic  person  a  sardonic 
libeler  of  mankind,  who  cared  only  to  take  foibles  and  vices 
for  his  subjects,  and  who  either  left  goodness  and  virtue  out 


xxxii  BRIEF  SKETCH  OF 

of  sight  altogether,  or  represented  them  as  the  qualities  of 
fools.  In  private  life  he  was  held  up  as  at  the  best  a  self- 
centred  egotist  who  cared  for  nothing  but  himself  and  his  own 
work,  capable  of  interrupting  one  friend  who  told  him  of  the 
death  of  a  sister  by  a  suggestion  that  they  should  change  the 
subject  and  talk  of  "something  real,  of  '  Eugenie  Grandet,'  ' 
and  of  levying  a  fifty  percent,  commission  on  another  who 
had  written  a  critical  notice  of  his,  Balzac's  life  and  works. 
With  the  first  of  these  charges  he  himself,  on  different  occa- 
sions, rather  vainly  endeavored  to  grapple,  once  drawing  up 
an  elaborate  list  of  his  virtuous  and  vicious  women,  and  show- 
ing that  the  former  outnumbered  the  latter  ;  and,  again,  labor- 
ing (with  that  curious  lack  of  sense  of  humor  which  distin- 
guishes of  all  Frenchmen  but  a  very  few,  and  distinguished  him 
eminently)  to  show  that  though  no  doubt  it  is  very  difficult 
to  make  virtuous  persons  interesting,  he,  Honore  de  Balzac, 
had  attempted  it,  and  succeeded  in  it,  on  a  quite  surprising 
number  of  occasions. 

The  fact  is  that  if  he  had  handled  this  last  matter  rather 
more  lightly  his  answer  would  have  been  a  sufficient  one,  and 
that  in  any  case  the  charge  is  not  worth  answering.  It  does 
not  lie  against  the  whole  of  his  work  ;  and  if  it  lay  as  con- 
clusively as  it  does  against  Swift's,  it  would  not  necessarily 
matter.  To  the  artist  in  analysis  as  opposed  to  the  romance- 
writer,  folly  always,  and  villainy  sometimes,  does  supply  a 
much  better  subject  than  virtuous  success,  and  if  he  makes  his 
fools  and  his  villains  lifelike  and  supplies  them  with  a  fair 
contrast  of  better  things,  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said. 
He  will  not,  indeed,  be  a  Shakespeare,  or  a  Dante,  or  even  a 
Scott ;  but  we  may  be  very  well  satisfied  with  him  as  a  Field- 
ing, a  Thackeray,  or  a  Balzac.  His  education  in  a  lawyer's 
office,  the  accursed  advice  about  the  bonne  speculation,  and 
his  constant  straitenings  for  money,  will  account  for  his  some- 
times looking  after  the  main  chance  rather  too  narrowly  ;  and 
as  for  the  "Eugenie  Grandet"  story  it  requires  no  great 


HONORE  DE   BALZAC.  xxxiii 

stretch  of  charity  or  comprehension  to  see  in  it  nothing  more 
than  the  awkward,  very  easily  misconstrued,  but  not  neces- 
sarily in  the  least  heartless  or  brutal  attempt  of  a  rather  absent 
and  very  much  self-centred  recluse  absorbed  in  one  subject, 
to  get  his  interlocutor  as  well  as  himself  out  of  painful  and 
useless  dwelling  on  sorrowful  matters.  Self-centred  and  self- 
absorbed  Balzac  no  doubt  was ;  he  could  not  have  lived  his 
life  or  produced  his  work  if  he  had  been  anything  else.  And 
it  must  be  remembered  that  he  owed  extremely  little  to 
others  ;  that  he  had  the  independence  as  well  as  the  isolation 
of  the  self-centred ;  that  he  never  spunged  or  fawned  on  a 
great  man,  or  wronged  others  of  what  was  due  to  them.  The 
only  really  unpleasant  thing  about  him,  perhaps  due  to  ignor- 
ance of  all  sides  of  the  matter,  is  a  slight  touch  of  snobbish- 
ness now  and  then,  especially  in  those  late  letters  from 
Vierzschovnia  to  Madame  de  Balzac  and  Madame  Surville, 
in  which,  while  inundating  his  mother  and  sister  with  com- 
missions and  requests  for  service,  he  points  out  to  them  what 
great  people  the  Hanskas  and  Mniszechs  are,  what  infinite 
honor  and  profit  it  will  be  to  be  connected  with  them,  and 
how  desirable  it  is  to  keep  struggling  engineer  brothers-in-law 
and  ne'er-do-well  brothers  in  the  colonies  out  of  sight  lest 
they  should  disgust  the  magnates. 

But  these  are  "sma'  sums,  sma'  sums,"  as  Bailie  Jarvie 
says ;  and  smallness  of  any  kind  has,  whatever  it  may  have 
to  do  with  Balzac  the  man,  nothing  to  do  with  Balzac  the 
writer.  With  him  as  with  some  others,  but  not  as  with  the 
larger  number,  the  sense  of  greatness  increases  the  longer 
and  the  more  fully  he  is  studied.  He  resembles  Goethe 
more  than  any  other  man  of  letters — certainly  more  than 
any  other  of  the  present  century — in  having  done  work 
which  is  very  frequently,  if  not  even  commonly,  faulty,  and 
in  yet  requiring  that  his  work  shall  be  known  as  a  whole. 
His  appeal  is  cumulative ;  it  repeats  itself  on  each  occasion 
with  a  slight  difference,  and  though  there  may  now  and 


xxxiv  BRIEF  SKETCH   OF 

then  be  the  same  faults  to  be  noticed,  they  are  almost  in- 
variably accompanied,  not  merely  by  the  same,  but  by  fresh 
merits. 

There  are  two  things  which  it  is  more  especially  desirable  to 
keep  constantly  before  one  in  reading  Balzac — two  tilings, 
which,  taken  together,  constitute  his  almost  unique  value,  and 
two  things  which  not  a  few  critics  have  failed  to  take  together 
in  him,  being  under  the  impression  that  the  one  excludes  the 
other,  and  that  to  admit  the  other  is  tantamount  to  a  denial 
of  the  one.  These  two  things  are,  first,  an  immense  attention 
to  detail,  sometimes  observed,  sometimes  invented  or  im- 
agined ;  and,  secondly,  a  faculty  of  regarding  these  details 
through  a  mental  lens  or  arrangement  of  lenses  almost  peculiar 
to  himself,  which  at  once  combines,  enlarges,  and  invests  them 
with  a  peculiar  magical  halo  or  mirage.  The  two  thousand 
personages  of  the  "  Comedie  Humaine "  are,  for  the  most 
part,  "signaled,"  as  the  French  official  word  has  it,  marked 
and  denoted  by  the  minutest  traits  of  character,  gesture,  gait, 
clothing,  abode,  what  not;  the  transactions  recorded  are  very 
often  (more  often  indeed  than  not)  given  with  a  scrupulous 
and  microscopic  accuracy  of  reporting  which  no  detective 
could  outdo.  Defoe  is  not  more  circumstantial  in  detail  of 
fact  than  Balzac  ;  Richardson  is  hardly  more  prodigal  of  char- 
acter-stroke. Yet  a  very  large  proportion  of  these  characters, 
of  these  circumstances,  are  evidently  things  invented  or  im- 
agined, not  observed.  And  in  addition  to  this  the  artist's 
magic  glass,  his  Balzacian  speculum,  if  we  may  so  say  (for 
none  else  has  ever  had  it)  transform  even  the  most  rigid  ob- 
servation into  something  flickering  and  fanciful,  the  outline  as 
of  shadows  on  the  wall,  not  the  precise  contour  of  etching  or 
of  the  camera. 

It  is  curious,  but  not  unexampled,  that  both  Balzac  himself 
when  he  struggled  in  argument  with  his  critics  and  those  of 
his  partisans  who  have  been  most  jealously  devoted  to  him, 
have  usually  tried  to  exalt  the  first  and  less  remarkable  of  these 


HONOR&   DE   BALZAC.  xxxv 

gifts  over  the  second  and  infinitely  more  remarkable.  Balzac 
protested  strenuously  against  the  use  of  the  word  "gigan- 
tesque  "  in  reference  to  his  work;  and  of  course  it  is  susceptible 
of  an  unhandsome  innuendo.  But  if  we  leave  that  innuendo 
aside,  if  we  adopt  the  same  reflection  that  "  gigantesque  " 
does  not  exclude  "gigantic,"  or  assert  a  constant  failure  of 
greatness,  but  only  indicates  that  the  magnifying  process  is 
carried  on  with  a  certain  indiscriminateness,  we  shall  find 
none,  I  think,  which  so  thoroughly  well  describes  him. 

The  effect  of  this  singular  combination  of  qualities,  appar- 
ently the  most  opposite,  may  be  partly  anticipated,  but  not 
quite.  It  results  occasionally  in  a  certain  shortcoming  as 
regards  the  very  truth,  absolute  artistic  truth  to  nature.  Those 
who  would  range  Balzac  in  point  of  such  artistic  veracity  on 
a  level  with  poetical  and  universal  realists  like  Shakespeare 
and  Dante,  or  prosaic  and  particular  realists  like  Thackeray 
and  Fielding,  seem  not  only  to  be  utterly  wrong  but  to  pay 
their  idol  the  worst  of  all  compliments,  that  of  ignoring  his 
own  special  qualifications.  The  province  of  Balzac  may  not 
be — I  do  not  think  it  is — identical,  much  less  coextensive, 
with  that  of  nature.  But  it  is  his  own — a  partly  real,  partly 
fantastic  region,  where  the  lights,  the  shades,  the  dimensions, 
and  physical  laws  are  slightly  different  from  those  of  this 
world  of  ours,  but  with  which,  owing  to  things  it  has  in  com- 
mon with  that  world,  we  are  able  to  sympathize,  which  we 
can  traverse  and  comprehend.  Every  now  and  then  the  artist 
uses  his  observing  faculty  more,  and  his  magnifying  and  (since 
there  is  no  better  word)  distorting  lens  less ;  every  now  and 
then  he  reverses  the  proportion.  Some  tastes  will  like  him 
best  in  the  one  stage  ;  some  in  the  other ;  the  happier  con- 
stituted will  like  him  best  in  both.  These  latter  declined  to 
put  "Eugenie  Grandet  "  above  the  "  Wild  Ass'  Skin,"  or 
"  Father  Goriot  "  above  the  wonderful  handful  of  tales  which 
includes  "The  Quest  of  the  Absolute"  and  "The  Unknown 
Masterpiece,"  though  they  will  no  doubt  recognize  that  even 


xxxvi  BRIEF  SKETCH   OF 

in  the  two  first  named  members  of  these  pairs  of  the  Bal- 
zacian  quality,  that  of  magnifying  and  rendering  grandiose, 
is  present,  and  that  the  martyrdom  of  Eugenie,  the  avarice 
of  her  father,  the  blind  self-devotion  of  Goriot  to  his  thank- 
less and  worthless  children,  would  not  be  what  they  are  if  they 
were  seen  through  a  perfectly  achromatic  and  normal  medium. 
This  specially  Balzacian  quality  is  unique.  It  is  like — it 
may  almost  be  said  to  be — the  poetic  imagination,  present  in 
magnificent  volume  and  degree,  but  in  some  miraculous  way 
deprived  and  sterilized  of  the  specially  poetical  quality.  By 
this  we  do  not  of  course  mean  that  Balzac  did  not  write  in 
verse ;  we  have  a  few  verses  of  his,  and  they  are  pretty  poor, 
but  that  is  neither  here  nor  there.  The  difference  between 
Balzac  and  a  great  poet  lies  not  in  the  fact  that  the  one  fills 
the  whole  page  with  printed  words,  and  the  other  only  a  part 
of  it — but  in  something  else.  If  we  could  put  that  something 
else  into  distinct  words  we  should  therein  attain  the  philoso- 
pher's stone,  the  elixir  of  life,  the  first  cause,  the  great 
secret,  not  merely  of  criticism  but  of  all  things.  It  might 
be  possible  to  coast  about  it,  to  hint  at  it,  by  adumbrations 
and  in  consequences.  But  it  is  better  and  really  more  helpful 
to  face  the  difficulty  boldly,  and  to  say  that  Balzac,  approach- 
ing a  great  poet  nearer  perhaps  than  any  other  prose  writer  in 
any  language,  is  distinguished  from  one  by  the  absence  of  the 
very  last  touch,  the  finally  constituting  quiddity,  which  makes 
a  great  poet  different  from  Balzac. 

Now,  when  we  make  this  comparison,  it  is  of  the  first  in- 
terest to  remember — and  it  is  one  of  the  uses  of  the  compari- 
son, that  it  suggests  the  remembrance  of  the  fact — that  the 
great  poets  have  usually  been  themselves  extremely  exact  ob- 
servers of  detail.  It  has  not  made  them  great  poets ;  but 
they  would  not  be  great  poets  without  it.  And  when  Eugenie 
Grandet  starts  from  the  little  wooden  bench  at  the  reference  to 
it  in  her  scoundrelly  cousin's  letter  (to  take  only  one  instance 
out  of  a  thousand),  we  see  in  Balzac  the  same  observation. 


HO  NO  RE  DE   BALZAC.  xxxvii 

subject  to  the  limitations  just  mentioned,  that  we  see  in  Dante 
and  Shakespeare,  in  Chaucer  and  Tennyson.  But  the  great 
poets  do  not  as  a  rule  accumulate  detail.  Balzac  does,  and 
from  his  very  accumulation  he  manages  to  derive  that  singular 
gigantesque  vagueness — differing  from  poetic  vague,  but  rank- 
ing next  to  it — which  we  have  here  ventured  to  note  as  his 
distinguishing  quality.  He  bewilders  us  a  very  little  by  it, 
and  he  gives  us  the  impression  that  he  has  slightly  bewildered 
himself.  But  the  compensations  of  the  bewilderment  are 
large. 

For  in  this  labyrinth  and  whirl  of  things,  in  this  heat  and 
hurry  of  observation  and  imagination,  the  special  intoxication 
of  Balzac  consists.  Every  great  artist  has  his  own  means  of 
producing  this  intoxication,  and  it  differs  in  result  like  the 
stimulus  of  beauty  or  of  wine.  Those  persons  who  are  unfor- 
tunate enough  to  see  in  Balzac  little  or  nothing  but  an  inge- 
nious piler-up  of  careful  strokes — a  man  of  science  taking  his 
human  documents  and  classing  them  after  an  orderly  fashion 
in  portfolio  and  deed-box — must  miss  this  intoxication  alto- 
gether. It  is  much  more  agreeable  as  well  as  much  more 
accurate  to  see  in  the  manufacture  of  the  "Comedie"  the 
process  of  a  Cyclopean  workshop — the  bustle,  the  hurry,  the 
glare  and  shadow,  the  steam  and  sparks  of  Vulcan  ian  forging. 
The  results,  it  is  true,  are  by  no  means  confused  or  disorderly 
— neither  were  those  of  the  forges  that  worked  under  Lipari — 
but  there  certainly  went  much  more  to  them  than  the  dainty 
fingering  of  a  literary  fretwork-maker  or  the  dull  rummagings 
of  a  realist  a  la  Zola. 

In  part  no  doubt,  and  in  great  part,  the  work  of  Balzac  is 
dream-stuff  rather  than  life-stuff,  and  it  is  all  the  better  for 
that.  What  is  better  than  dreams  ?  But  the  coherence  of 
his  visions,  their  bulk,  their  solidity,  the  way  in  which  they 
return  to  us  and  we  return  to  them,  make  them  such  dream- 
stuff  as  there  is  all  too  little  of  in  this  world.  If  it  is  true 
that  evil  on  the  whole  predominates  over  good  in  the  vision 


xxxviii  BRIEF  SKETCH   OF 

of  this  "  Voyant,"  as  Philarete  Chasles  so  justly  called  him 
(and  we  think  it  does,  though  not  to  the  same  extent  as  we 
once  thought),  two  very  respectable,  and  in  one  case  very 
large,  though  somewhat  opposed  divisions  of  mankind,  the 
philosophic  pessimist  and  the  convinced  and  consistent  Chris- 
tian believer,  will  tell  us  that  this  is  at  least  not  one  of  the 
points  in  which  it  is  unfaithful  to  life.  If  the  author  is  closer 
and  more  faithful  in  his  study  of  meanness  and  vice  than  in 
his  studies  of  nobility  and  virtue,  the  blame  is  due  at  least  as 
much  to  his  models  as  to  himself.  If,  as  we  fear  must  be 
confessed,  he  has  seldom  succeeded  in  combining  a  really 
passionate  with  a  really  noble  conception  of  love,  very  few 
of  his  countrymen  have  been  more  fortunate  in  that  respect. 
If  in  some  of  his  types — his  journalists,  his  married  women, 
and  others — he  seems  to  have  sacrificed  to  conventions,  let  us 
remember  that  those  who  know  attribute  to  his  conventions 
such  a  powerful  if  not  altogether  such  a  holy  influence  that 
two  generations  of  the  people  he  painted  have  actually  lived 
more  and  more  up  to  his  painting  of  them. 

And  last  of  all,  but  also  greatest,  has  to  be  considered  the 
immensity  of  his  imaginative  achievement,  the  huge  space 
that  he  has  filled  for  us  with  vivid  creation,  the  range  of 
amusement,  of  instruction,  of  (after  a  fashion)  edification 
which  he  has  thrown  open  for  us  to  walk  in.  It  is  possible 
that  he  himself  and  others  more  or  less  well-meaningly, 
though  more  or  less  maladroitly,  following  his  lead,  may  have 
exaggerated  the  coherence  and  the  architectural  design  of  the 
"  Comedie."  But  it  has  coherence  and  it  has  design;  nor 
shall  we  find  anything  exactly  to  parallel  it.  In  mere  bulk 
the  "  Comedie  "  probably,  if  not  certainly,  exceeds  the  pro- 
duction of  any  novelist  of  the  first  class  in  any  kind  of  fiction 
except  Dumas,  and  with  Dumas,  for  various  and  well-known 
reasons,  there  is  no  possibility  of  comparing  it.  All  others 
yield  in  bulk  ;  all  in  a  certain  concentration  and  intensity ; 
none  even  aims  at  anything  like  the  same  system  and  com- 


HONORE  DE   BALZAC.  xxxix 

pleteness.  It  must  be  remembered  that  owing  to  shortness 
of  life,  lateness  of  beginning,  and  the  diversion  of  the  author 
to  other  work,  the  "  Comedie  "  is  the  production,  and  not 
the  sole  production,  of  some  seventeen  or  eighteen  years  at 
most.  Not  a  volume  of  it,  for  all  that  failure  to  reach  the 
completes!  perfection  in  form  and  style  which  has  been 
acknowledged,  can  be  accused  of  thinness,  of  scamped  work, 
of  mere  repetition,  of  mere  cobbling  up.  Every  one  bears 
the  marks  of  steady  and  ferocious  labor,  as  well  as  of  the 
genius  which  had  at  last  come  where  it  had  been  so  earnestly 
called  and  had  never  gone  away  again.  It  is  possible  to 
overpraise  Balzac  in  parts  or  to  mispraise  him  as  a  whole. 
But  so  long  as  inappropriate  and  superfluous  comparisons  are 
avoided  and  as  his  own  excellence  is  recognized  and  appre- 
ciated, it  is  scarcely  possible  to  overestimate  that  excellence 
in  itself  and  for  itself.  He  stands  alone ;  even  with  Dickens, 
who  is  his  nearest  analogue,  he  shows  far  more  points  of 
difference  than  of  likeness.  His  vastness  of  bulk  is  not  more 
remarkable  than  his  peculiarity  of  quality ;  and  when  these 
two  things  coincide  in  literature  or  elsewhere,  then  that  in 
which  they  coincide  may  be  called,  and  must  be  called, 
Great,  without  hesitation  and  without  reserve. 


INTRODUCTION. 

IN  giving  the  general  title  of  "  The  Comedie  Humaine  "  to 
a  work  begun  nearly  thirteen  years  since,  it  is  necessary  to 
explain  its  motive,  to  relate  its  origin,  and  briefly  sketch  its 
plan,  while  endeavoring  to  speak  of  these  matters  as  though 
I  had  no  personal  interest  in  them.  This  is  not  so  difficult 
as  the  public  might  imagine.  Few  works  conduce  to  much 
vanity;  much  labor  conduces  to  great  diffidence.  This  obser- 
vation accounts  for  the  study  of  their  own  works  made  by 
Corneille,  Moliere,  and  other  great  writers  ;  if  it  is  impossible 
to  equal  them  in  their  fine  conceptions,  we  may  try  to  imitate 
them  in  this  feeling. 

The  idea  of  "The  Comedie  Humaine"  was  at  first  as  a 
dream  to  me,  one  of  those  impossible  projects  which  we 
caress  and  then  let  fly ;  a  chimera  that  gives  us  a  glimpse  of 
its  smiling  woman's  face,  and  forthwith  spreads  its  wings  and 
returns  to  a  heavenly  realm  of  phantasy.  But  this  chimera, 
like  many  another,  has  become  a  reality;  has  its  behests,  its 
tyranny,  which  must  be  obeyed. 

The  idea  originated  in  a  comparison  between  humanity 
and  animality. 

It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the  great  dispute  which  has 
lately  made  a  stir,  between  Cuvier  and  Geoffroi  Saint-Hilaire, 
arose  from  a  scientific  innovation.  Unity  of  structure,  under 
other  names,  had  occupied  the  greatest  minds  during  the  two 
previous  centuries.  As  we  read  the  extraordinary  writings  of 
the  mystics  who  studied  the  sciences  in  their  relation  to  infin- 
ity, such  as  Swedenborg,  Saint-Martin,  and  others,  and  the 
works  of  the  greatest  authors  on  Natural  History — Leibnitz, 
BufFon,  Charles  Bonnet,  etc.,  we  detect  in  the  monads  of  Leib- 

(xli) 


xlii  INTRODUCTION. 

nitz,  in  the  organic  molecules  of  Buffon,  in  the  vegetative  force 
of  Needham,  in  the  correlation  of  similar  organs  of  Charles 
Bonnet — who  in  1760  was  so  bold  as  to  write,  "Animals 
vegetate  as  plants  do  " — we  detect,  I  say,  the  rudiments  of 
the  great  law  of  self  for  self,  which  lies  at  the  root  of  unity 
of  plan.  There  is  but  one  animal.  The  Creator  works  on  a 
single  model  for  every  organized  being.  "The  animal"  is 
elementary,  and  takes  its  external  form,  or,  to  be  accurate, 
the  differences  in  its  form,  from  the  environment  in  which  it 
is  obliged  to  develop.  Zoological  species  are  the  result  of  these 
differences.  The  announcement  and  defence  of  this  system, 
which  is  indeed  in  harmony  with  our  preconceived  ideas  of 
divine  power,  will  be  the  eternal  glory  of  Geoffroi  Saint- 
Hilaire,  Cuvier's  victorious  opponent  on  this  point  of  higher 
science,  whose  triumph  was  hailed  by  Goethe  in  the  last 
article  he  wrote. 

I,  for  my  part,  convinced  of  this  scheme  of  nature  long 
before  the  discussion  to  which  it  has  given  rise,  perceived  that 
in  this  respect  society  resembled  nature.  For  does  not  society 
modify  man,  according  to  the  conditions  in  which  he  lives  and 
acts,  into  men  as  manifold  as  the  species  in  zoology?  The 
differences  between  a  soldier,  an  artisan,  a  man  of  business,  a 
lawyer,  an  idler,  a  student,  a  statesman,  a  merchant,  a  sailor, 
a  poet,  a  beggar,  a  priest,  are  as  great,  though  not  so  easy  to 
define,  as  those  between  the  wolf,  the  lion,  the  ass,  the  crow, 
the  shark,  the  seal,  the  sheep,  etc.  Thus  social  species  have 
always  existed,  and  will  always  exist,  just  as  there  are  zoolog- 
ical species.  If  Buffon  could  produce  a  magnificent  work  by 
attempting  to  represent  in  a  book  the  whole  realm  of  zoology, 
was  there  not  room  for  a  work  of  the  same  kind  on  society  ? 
But  the  limits  set  by  nature  to  the  variations  of  animals  have 
no  existence  in  society.  When  Buffon  describes  the  lion,  lie 
dismisses  the  lioness  with  a  few  phrases ;  but  in  society  a  wife 
is  not  always  the  female  of  the  male.  There  may  be  two  per- 
fectly dissimilar  beings  in  one  household.  The  wife  of  a 


INTRODUCTION.  xliii 

shopkeeper  is  sometimes  worthy  of  a  prince,  and  the  wife  of  a 
prince  is  often  worthless  compared  with  the  wife  of  an  artisan. 
The  social  state  has  freaks  which  nature  does  not  allow  her- 
self; it  is  nature  plus  society.  The  description  of  social 
species  would  thus  be  at  least  double  that  of  animal  species, 
merely  in  view  of  the  two  sexes.  Then,  among  animals  the 
drama  is  limited;  there  is  scarcely  any  confusion  ;  they  turn 
and  rend  each  other — that  is  all.  Men,  too,  rend  each  other  ; 
but  their  greater  or  less  intelligence  makes  the  struggle  far 
more  complicated.  Though  some  savants  do  not  yet  admit 
that  the  animal  nature  flows  into  human  nature  through  an 
immense  tide  of  life,  the  grocer  certainly  becomes  a  peer,  and 
the  noble  sometimes  sinks  to  the  lowest  social  grade.  Again, 
Buffon  found  that  life  was  extremely  simple  among  animals. 
Animals  have  little  property,  and  neither  arts  nor  sciences  ; 
while  man,  by  a  law  that  has  yet  to  be  sought,  has  a  tendency 
to  express  his  culture,  his  thoughts,  and  his  life  in  everything 
he  appropriates  to  his  use.  Though  Leuwenhoek,  Swammer- 
dam,  Spallanzani,  Reaumur,  Charles  Bonnet,  Miiller,  Hallen 
and  other  patient  investigators  have  shown  us  how  interesting 
are  the  habits  of  animals,  those  of  each  kind  are,  at  least  to 
our  eyes,  always  and  in  every  age  alike  ;  whereas  the  dress, 
the  manners,  the  speech,  the  dwelling  of  a  prince,  a  banker, 
an  artist,  a  citizen,  a  priest,  and  a  pauper  are  absolutely 
unlike,  and  change  with  every  phase  of  civilization. 

Hence  the  work  to  be  written  needed  a  threefold  form — 
men,  women,  and  things;  that  is  to  say,  persons  and  the 
material  expression  of  their  minds ;  man,  in  short,  and  life. 

As  we  read  the  dry  and  discouraging  list  of  events  called 
history,  who  can  have  failed  to  note  that  the  writers  of  all 
periods,  in  Egypt,  Persia,  Greece,  and  Rome,  have  forgotten 
to  give  us  the  history  of  manners?  The  fragment  of  Pet- 
ronius  on  the  private  life  of  the  Romans  excites  rather  than 
satisfies  our  curiosity.  It  was  from  observing  this  great  void 
in  the  field  of  history  that  the  Abbe  Barthelemy  devoted  his 


xliv  INTRODUCTION. 

life  to   a  reconstruction    of  Greek  manners  in    "Le  Jeune 
Anacharsis." 

But  how  could  such  a  drama,  with  the  four  or  five  thousand 
persons  which  a  society  offers,  be  made  interesting  ?  How, 
at  the  same  time,  please  the  poet,  the  philosopher,  and  the 
masses  who  want  both  poetry  and  philosophy  under  striking 
imagery?  Though  I  could  conceive  of  the  importance  and 
of  the  poetry  of  such  a  history  of  the  human  heart,  I  saw  no 
way  of  writing  it ;  for  hitherto  the  most  famous  story-tellers 
had  spent  their  talent  in  creating  two  or  three  typical  actors, 
in  depicting  one  aspect  of  life.  It  was  with  this  idea  that  I 
read  the  works  of  Walter  Scott.  Walter  Scott,  the  modern 
troubadour,  or  finder  (trouvere — trouveur),  had  just  then 
given  an  aspect  of  grandeur  to  a  class  of  composition  unjustly 
regarded  as  of  the  second  rank.  Is  it  not  really  more  diffi- 
cult to  compete  with  personal  and  parochial  interests  by  writ- 
ing of  Daphnis  and  Chloe,  Roland,  Amadis,  Panurge,  Don 
Quixote,  Manon  Lescaut,  Clarissa,  Lovelace,  Robinson  Crusoe, 
Gil  Bias,  Ossian,  Julie  d'Etanges,  My  Uncle  Toby,  Werther, 
Corinne,  Adolphe,  Paul  and  Virginia,  Jeanie  Deans,  Claver- 
house,  Ivanhoe,  Manfred,  Mignon,  than  to  set  forth  in  order 
facts  more  or  less  similar  in  every  country,  to  investigate  the 
spirit  of  laws  that  have  fallen  into  desuetude,  to  review  the 
theories  which  mislead  nations,  or,  like  some  metaphysicians, 
to  explain  what  Is  ?  In  the  first  place,  these  actors,  whose 
existence  becomes  more  prolonged  and  more  authentic  than 
that  of  the  generations  which  saw  their  birth,  almost  always 
live  solely  on  condition  of  there  being  a  vast  reflection  of  the 
present.  Conceived  in  the  womb  of  their  own  period,  the 
whole  heart  of  humanity  stirs  within  their  frame,  which  often 
covers  a  complete  system  of  philosophy.  Thus  Walter  Scott 
raised  to  the  dignity  of  the  philosophy  of  history  the  liter- 
ature which,  from  age  to  age,  sets  perennial  gems  in  the  poetic 
crown  of  every  nation  where  letters  are  cultivated.  He  vivi- 
fied it  with  the  spirit  of  the  past;  he  combined  drama,  dia- 


//  TR  OD  UCTION.  xlv 

logue,  portrait,  scenery,  and  description ;  he  fused  the 
marvelous  with  truth — the  two  elements  of  the  times ;  and  he 
brought  poetry  into  close  contact  with  the  familiarity  of  the 
humblest  speech.  But  as  he  had  not  so  much  devised  a 
system  as  hit  upon  a  manner  in  the  ardor  of  his  work,  or  as 
its  logical  outcome,  he  never  thought  of  connecting  his  com- 
positions in  such  a  way  as  to  form  a  complete  history  of  which 
each  chapter  was  a  novel,  and  each  novel  the  picture  of  a 
period. 

It  was  by  discerning  this  lack  of  unity,  which  in  no  way 
detracts  from  the  Scottish  writer's  greatness,  that  I  perceived 
at  once  the  scheme  which  would  favor  the  execution  of  my 
purpose,  and  the  possibility  of  executing  it.  Though  dazzled, 
so  to  speak,  by  Walter  Scott's  amazing  fertility,  always  himself 
and  always  original,  I  did  not  despair,  for  I  found  the  source 
of  his  genius  in  the  infinite  variety  of  human  nature.  Chance 
is  the  greatest  romancer  in  the  world  ;  we  have  only  to  study 
it.  French  society  would  be  the  real  author  ;  I  should  only 
be  the  secretary.  By  drawing  up  an  inventory  of  vices  and 
virtues,  by  collecting  the  chief  facts  of  the  passions,  by 
depicting  characters,  by  choosing  the  principal  incidents  of 
social  life,  by  composing  types  out  of  a  combination  of 
homogeneous  characteristics,  I  might  perhaps  succeed  in  writ- 
ing the  history  which  so  many  historians  have  neglected:  that 
of  manners.  By  patience  and  perseverance  I  might  produce 
for  France  in  the  nineteenth  century  the  book  which  we 
must  all  regret  that  Rome,  Athens,  Tyre,  Memphis,  Persia, 
and  India  have  not  bequeathed  to  us ;  that  history  of  their 
social  life  which,  prompted  by  the  Abbe  Barthelemy,  Mon- 
teil  patiently  and  steadily  tried  to  write  for  the  middle  ages, 
but  in  an  unattractive  form. 

The  work,  so  far,  was  nothing.  By  adhering  to  the  strict 
lines  of  a  reproduction  a  writer  might  be  a  more  or  less 
faithful,  and  more  or  less  successful  painter  of  types  of 
humanity,  a  narrator  of  the  dramas  of  private  life,  an  arch- 


xlvi  INTRODUCTION. 

geologist  of  social  furniture,  a  cataloguer  of  professions,  a 
registrar  of  good  and  evil ;  but  to  deserve  the  praise  of 
which  every  artist  must  be  ambitious,  must  I  not  also  inves- 
tigate the  reasons  or  the  cause  of  these  social  effects,  detect 
the  hidden  sense  of  this  vast  assembly  of  figures,  passions, 
and  incidents?  And  finally,  having  sought — I  will  not  say 
having  found — this  reason,  this  motive  power,  must  I  not 
reflect  on  first  principles,  and  discover  in  what  particulars 
societies  approach  or  deviate  from  the  eternal  law  of  truth 
and  beauty  ?  In  spite  of  the  wide  scope  of  the  prelimi- 
naries, which  might  of  themselves  constitute  a  book,  the  work, 
to  be  complete,  would  need  a  conclusion.  Thus  depicted, 
society  ought  to  bear  in  itself  the  reason  of  its  working. 

The  law  of  the  writer,  in  virtue  of  which  he  is  a  writer, 
and  which  I  do  not  hesitate  to  say  makes  him  the  equal, 
or  perhaps  the  superior,  of  the  statesman,  is  his  judgment, 
whatever  it  may  be,  on  human  affairs,  and  his  absolute  devo- 
tion to  certain  principles.  Machiavelli,  Hobbes,  Bossuet, 
Leibnitz,  Kant,  Montesquieu  are  the  science  which  statesmen 
apply.  "  A  writer  ought  to  have  some  settled  opinions  on 
morals  and  politics ;  he  should  regard  himself  as  a  tutor 
of  men;  for  men  need  no  masters  to  teach  them  to  doubt," 
says  Bonald.  I  took  these  noble  words  as  my  guide  long 
ago  ;  they  are  the  written  law  of  the  monarchical  writer. 
And  those  who  would  confute  me  by  my  own  words  will 
find  that  they  have  misinterpreted  some  ironical  phrase,  or 
that  they  have  turned  against  me  a  speech  given  to  one  of 
my  actors — a  trick  peculiar  to  calumniators. 

As  to  the  intimate  purpose,  the  soul  of  this  work,  these 
are  the  principles  on  which  it  is  based. 

Man  is  neither  good  nor  bad ;  he  is  born  with  instincts 
and  capabilities  ;  society,  far  from  depraving  him,  as  Rousseau 
asserts,  improves  him,  makes  him  better ;  but  self-interest 
also  develops  his  evil  tendencies.  Christianity,  above  all, 
Catholicism,  being — as  I  have  pointed  out  in  the  "  Country 


INTRODUCTION.  xlvii 

Doctor  "  (Le  Medecin  de  Campagne) — a  complete  system  for 
the  repression  of  the  depraved  tendencies  of  man,  is  the 
most  powerful  element  of  social  order. 

In  reading  attentively  the  presentment  of  society  cast,  as 
it  were,  from  the  life,  with  all  that  is  good  and  all  that  is  bad 
in  it,  we  learn  this  lesson — if  thought,  or  if  passion,  which 
combines  thought  and  feeling,  is  the  vital  social  element,  it  is 
also  its  destructive  element.  In  this  respect  social  life  is  like  the 
life  of  man.  Nations  live  long  only  by  moderating  their  vital 
energy.  Teaching,  or  rather  education,  by  religious  bodies  is 
the  grand  principle  of  life  for  nations,  the  only  means  for 
diminishing  the  sum  of  evil  and  increasing  the  sum  of  good 
in  all  society.  Thought,  the  living  principle  of  good  and  ill, 
can  only  be  trained,  quelled,  and  guided  by  religion.  The 
only  possible  religion  is  Christianity  (see  the  letter  from  Paris 
in  "Louis  Lambert,"  in  which  the  young  mystic  explains,  a 
propos  to  Swedenborg's  doctrines,  how  there  has  ever  been 
but  one  religion  since  the  world  began).  Christianity  created 
modern  nationalities,  and  it  will  preserve  them.  Hence,  no 
doubt,  the  necessity  for  the  monarchical  principle.  Catholi- 
cism and  royalty  are  twin  principles. 

As  to  the  limits  within  which  these  two  principles  should  be 
confined  by  various  institutions,  so  that  they  may  not  become 
absolute,  every  one  will  feel  that  a  brief  preface  ought  not  to 
be  a  political  treatise.  I  cannot,  therefore,  enter  on  religious 
discussion,  nor  on  the  political  discussions  of  the  day.  I 
write  under  the  light  of  two  eternal  truths — religion  and  mon- 
archy ;  two  necessities,  as  they  are  shown  to  be  by  contem- 
porary events,  towards  which  every  writer  of  sound  sense 
ought  to  try  to  guide  the  country  back.  Without  being  an 
enemy  to  election,  which  is  an  excellent  principle  as  a  basis 
of  legislation,  I  reject  election  regarded  as  the  only  social 
instrument,  especially  so  badly  organized  as  it  now  is ;  for  it 
fails  to  represent  imposing  minorities,  whose  ideas  and  inter- 
ests would  occupy  the  attention  of  a  monarchical  government. 


xlviii  INTRODUCTION. 

Elective  power  extended  to  all  gives  us  government  by  the 
masses,  the  only  irresponsible  form  of  government,  under 
which  tyranny  is  unlimited,  for  it  calls  itself  law.  Besides,  I 
regard  the  family  and  not  the  individual  as  the  true  social 
unit.  In  this  respect,  at  the  risk  of  being  thought  retrograd- 
ing, I  side  with  Bossuet  and  Bonald  instead  of  going  with 
modern  innovators.  Since  election  has  become  the  only  social 
instrument,  if  I  myself  were  to  exercise  it  no  contradiction 
between  my  acts  and  my  words  should  be  inferred.  An  engi- 
neer points  out  that  a  bridge  is  about  to  fall,  that  it  is  danger- 
ous for  any  one  to  cross  it ;  but  he  crosses  it  himself  when  it 
is  the  only  road  to  the  town.  Napoleon  adapted  election  to 
the  spirit  of  the  French  nation  with  wonderful  skill.  The 
least  important  members  of  his  legislative  body  became  the 
most  famous  orators  of  the  chamber  after  the  Restoration.  No 
chamber  has  ever  been  the  equal  of  the  "  Corps  Legislatif," 
(Legislative  Body),  comparing  them  man  for  man.  The  elec- 
tive system  of  the  empire  was,  then,  indisputably  the  best. 

Some  persons  may,  perhaps,  think  that  this  declaration  is 
somewhat  autocratic  and  self-assertive.  They  will  quarrel 
with  the  novelist  for  wanting  to  be  an  historian,  and  will  call 
him  to  account  for  writing  politics.  I  am  simply  fulfilling  an 
obligation — that  is  my  reply.  The  work  I  have  undertaken 
will  be  as  long  as  a  history  ;  I  was  compelled  to  explain  the 
logic  of  it,  hitherto  unrevealed,  and  its  principles  and  moral 
purpose. 

Having  been  obliged  to  withdraw  the  prefaces  formerly 
published,  in  response  to  essentially  ephemeral  criticisms,  I 
will  retain  only  one  remark. 

Writers  who  have  a  purpose  in  view,  were  it  only  a  rever- 
sion to  principles  familiar  in  the  past  because  they  are  eternal, 
should  always  clear  the  ground.  Now  every  one  who,  in  the 
domain  of  ideas,  brings  his  stone  by  pointing  out  an  abuse,  or 
setting  a  mark  on  some  evil  that  it  may  be  removed — every 
such  man  is  stigmatized  as  immoral.  The  accusation  of 


INTRODUCTION.  xlix 

immorality,  which  has  never  failed  to  be  cast  at  the  cour- 
ageous writer,  is,  after  all,  the  last  that  can  be  brought  when 
nothing  else  remains  to  be  said  to  a  romancer.  If  you  are 
truthful  in  your  pictures;  if  by  dint  of  daily  and  nightly 
toil  you  succeed  in  writing  the  most  difficult  language  in  the 
world,  the  word  "  immoral"  is  flung  in  your  teeth.  Socrates 
was  immoral;  Jesus  Christ  was  immoral ;  they  both  were  per- 
secuted in  the  name  of  the  society  they  overset  or  reformed. 
When  a  man  is  to  be  killed  he  is  taxed  with  immorality. 
These  tactics,  familiar  in  party  warfare,  are  a  disgrace  to 
those  who  use  them.  Luther  and  Calvin  knew  well  what  they 
were  about  when  they  shielded  themselves  behind  damaged 
worldly  interests  !  And  they  lived  all  the  days  of  their  life. 

When  depicting  all  society,  sketching  it  in  the  immensity 
of  its  turmoil,  it  happened — it  could  not  but  happen — that  the 
picture  displayed  more  of  evil  than  of  good  ;  that  some  part  of 
the  fresco  represented  a  guilty  couple  ;  and  the  critics  at  once 
raised  the  cry  of  immorality,  without  pointing  out  the  moral- 
ity of  another  portion  intended  to  be  a  perfect  contrast.  As 
the  critic  knew  nothing  of  the  general  plan  I  could  forgive 
him,  all  the  more  because  one  can  no  more  hinder  criticism 
than  the  use  of  eyes,  tongues  and  judgment.  Also  the  time 
for  an  impartial  verdict  has  not  yet  come  for  me.  And,  after 
all,  the  author  who  cannot  make  up  his  mind  to  face  the  fire 
of  criticism  should  no  more  think  of  writing  than  a  traveler 
should  start  on  his  journey  counting  on  a  perpetually  clear 
sky.  On  this  point  it  remains  to  be  said  that  the  most  con- 
scientious moralists  doubt  greatly  whether  society  can  show 
as  many  good  actions  as  bad  ones ;  and  in  the  picture  I 
have  painted  of  it  there  are  more  virtuous  figures  than  repre- 
hensible ones.  Blameworthy  actions,  faults  and  crimes,  from 
the  lightest  to  the  most  atrocious,  always  meet  with  punish- 
ment, human  or  divine,  signal  or  secret.  I  have  done  better 
than  the  historian,  for  I  am  free.  Cromwell  here  on  earth 
escaped  all  punishment  but  that  inflicted  by  thoughtful  men. 


1  INTRODUCTION. 

And  on  this  point  there  have  been  divided  schools.  Bossuet 
even  showed  some  consideration  for  the  great  regicide. 
William  of  Orange,  the  usurper,  Hugues  Capet,  another 
usurper,  lived  to  old  age  with  no  more  qualms  or  fears  than 
Henri  IV.  or  Charles  I.  The  lives  of  Catherine  II.  and  of 
Frederic  of  Prussia  would  be  conclusive  against  any  kind  of 
moral  law,  if  they  were  judged  by  the  twofold  aspect  of  the 
morality  which  guides  ordinary  mortals,  and  that  which  is  in 
use  by  crowned  heads ;  for,  as  Napoleon  said,  for  kings  and 
statesmen  there  are  the  lesser  and  the  higher  morality.  My 
scenes  of  political  life  are  founded  on  this  profound  observa- 
tion. It  is  not  a  law  to  history,  as  it  is  to  romance,  to  make 
for  a  beautiful  ideal.  History  is,  or  ought  to  be,  what  it  was  ; 
while  romance  ought  to  be  "  the  better  world,"  as  was  said 
by  Mme.  Necker,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  thinkers  of  the 
last  century. 

Still,  with  this  noble  falsity,  romance  would  be  nothing  if 
it  were  not  true  in  detail.  Walter  Scott,  obliged  as  he  was 
to  conform  to  the  ideas  of  an  essentially  hypocritical  nation, 
was  false  to  humanity  in  his  picture  of  woman,  because  his 
models  were  schismatics.  The  Protestant  woman  has  no 
ideal.  She  may  be  chaste,  pure,  virtuous  ;  but  her  unexpan- 
sive  love  will  always  be  as  calm  and  methodical  as  the  fulfil- 
ment of  a  duty.  It  might  seem  as  though  the  Virgin  Mary 
had  chilled  the  hearts  of  those  sophists  who  have  banished 
her  from  heaven  with  her  treasures  of  lovingkindness.  In 
Protestantism  there  is  no  possible  future  for  the  woman  who 
has  sinned  ;  while,  in  the  Catholic  Church,  the  hope  of  for- 
giveness makes  her  sublime.  Hence,  for  the  Protestant  writer 
there  is  but  one  woman,  while  the  Catholic  writer  finds  a  new 
woman  in  each  new  situation.  If  Walter  Scott  had  been  a 
Catholic,  if  he  had  set  himself  the  task  of  describing  truly 
the  various  phases  of  society  which  have  successively  existed 
in  Scotland,  perhaps  the  painter  of  Effie  and  Alice — the  two 
figures  for  which  he  blamed  himself  in  his  later  years — might 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  \\ 

have  admitted  passion  with  its  sins  and  punishments,  and  the 
virtues  revealed  by  repentance.  Passion  is  the  sum-total  of 
humanity.  Without  passion,  religion,  history,  romance,  art, 
would  all  be  useless. 

Some  persons,  seeing  me  collect  such  a  mass  of  facts  and 
paint  them  as  they  are,  with  passion  for  their  motive  power, 
have  supposed,  but  wrongly,  that  I  must  belong  to  the  school 
of  sensualism  and  materialism — two  aspects  of  the  same  thing 
— Pantheism.  But  their  misapprehension  was  perhaps  justi- 
fied— or  inevitable.  I  do  not  share  the  belief  in  indefinite 
progress  for  society  as  a  whole  ;  I  believe  in  man's  improve- 
ment in  himself.  Those  who  insist  on  reading  in  me  the 
intention  to  consider  man  as  a  finished  creation  are  strangely 
mistaken.  Seraphita,  the  doctrine  in  action  of  the  Christian 
Buddha,  seems  to  me  an  ample  answer  to  this  rather  heedless 
accusation. 

In  certain  fragments  of  this  long  work  I  have  tried  to 
popularize  the  amazing  facts,  I  may  say  the  marvels  of  elec- 
tricity, which  in  man  is  metamorphosed  into  an  incalculable 
force ;  but  in  what  way  do  the  phenomena  of  brain  and  nerves, 
which  prove  the  existence  of  an  undiscovered  world  of  psy- 
chology, modify  the  necessary  and  undoubted  relations  of  the 
worlds  to  God  ?  In  what  way  can  they  shake  the  Catholic 
dogma  ?  Though  irrefutable  facts  should  some  day  place 
thought  in  the  class  of  fluids  which  are  discerned  only  by 
their  effects  while  their  substance  evades  our  senses,  even 
when  aided  by  so  many  mechanical  means,  the  result  will 
be  the  same  as  when  Christopher  Columbus  detected  that  the 
earth  is  a  sphere,  and  Galileo  demonstrated  its  rotation.  Our 
future  will  be  unchanged.  The  wonders  of  animal  magnetism, 
with  which  I  have  been  familiar  since  1820;  the  beautiful 
experiments  of  Gall,  Lavater's  successor ;  all  the  men  who 
have  studied  mind  as  opticians  have  studied  light — two  not 
dissimilar  things — point  to  a  conclusion  in  favor  of  the 
mystics,  the  disciples  of  St.  John,  and  of  those  great  thinkers 


lii  INTRODUCTION. 

who  have  established  the  spiritual  world — the  sphere  in  which 
are  revealed  the  relations  of  God  and  man. 

A  sure  grasp  of  the  purport  of  this  work  will  make  it  clear 
that  I  attach  to  common,  daily  facts,  hidden  or  patent  to  the 
eye,  to  the  acts  of  individual  lives,  and  to  their  causes  and 
principles,  the  importance  which  historians  have  hitherto 
ascribed  to  the  events  of  public  national  life.  The  unknown 
struggle  which  goes  on  in  a  valley  of  the  Indre  between  Mme. 
de  Mortsauf  and  her  passion  is  perhaps  as  great  as  the  most 
famous  of  battles  (Z<?  Lys  dans  la  Vallee).  In  one  the  glory 
of  the  victor  is  at  stake;  in  the  other  it  is  heaven.  The 
misfortunes  of  the  two  Birotteaus,  the  priest  and  the  perfumer, 
tOrme  are  those  of  mankind.  LaFosseuse  (in  "  The  Country 
Doctor  ")and  Mme.  Graslin(in  "The  Village  Pastor")  are 
almost  the  sum-total  of  woman.  We  all  suffer  thus  every  day. 
I  have  had  to  do  a  hundred  times  what  Richardson  did  but 
once.  Lovelace  has  a  thousand  forms,  for  social  corruption 
takes  the  hues  of  the  medium  in  which  it  lives.  Clarissa,  on 
the  contrary,  the  lovely  image  of  impassioned  virtue,  is  drawn 
in  lines  of  distracting  purity.  To  create  a  variety  of  virgins 
it  needs  a  Raphael.  In  this  respect,  perhaps  literature  must 
yield  to  painting. 

Still,  I  may  be  allowed  to  point  out  how  many  irreproach- 
able figures — as  regards  their  virtue — are  to  be  found  in  the 
portions  of  this  work  already  published  :  Pierrette,  Lorrain, 
Ursule  Mirouet,  Constance  Birotteau,  La  Fosseuse,  Eugenie 
Grandet,  Marguerite  Claes,  Pauline  de  Villenoix,  Madame 
Jules,  Madame  de  la  Chanterie,  Eve  Chardon,  Mademoiselle 
d'Esgrignon,  Madame  Firmiani,  Agathe  Rouget,  Renee  de 
Maucombe ;  besides  several  figures  in  the  middle-distance, 
who,  though  less  conspicuous  than  these,  nevertheless,  offer 
the  reader  an  example  of  domestic  virtue  ;  Joseph  Lebas, 
Genestas,  Benassis,  Bonnet  the  cure,  Minoret  the  doctor, 
Pillerault,  David  S£chard,  the  two  Birotteaus,  Chaperon  the 
priest,  Judge  Popinot,  Bourgeat,  the  Sauviats,  the  Tascherons, 


INTR  OD  UC  TION.  liii 

and  many  more.  Do  not  all  these  solve  the  difficult  liter- 
ary problem  which  consists  in  making  a  virtuous  person 
interesting? 

It  was  no  small  task  to  depict  the  two  or  three  thousand 
conspicuous  types  of  a  period  ;  for  this  is,  in  fact,  the  number 
presented  to  us  by  each  generation,  and  which  the  "  Comedie 
Humaine  "  will  require.  This  crowd  of  actors,  of  characters, 
this  multitude  of  lives,  needed  a  setting — if  I  may  be  par- 
doned the  expression,  a  gallery.  Hence  the  very  natural 
division,  as  already  known,  into  Scenes  of  Private  Life,  of 
Provincial  Life,  of  Parisian,  Political,  Military,  and  Country 
Life.  Under  these  six  heads  are  classified  all  the  studies  of 
manners  which  form  the  history  of  society  at  large,  of  all  its 
doings  and  movements,  as  our  ancestors  would  have  said. 
These  six  classes  correspond,  indeed,  to  familiar  conceptions. 
Each  has  its  own  sense  and  meaning,  and  answers  to  an  epoch 
in  the  life  of  man.  I  may  repeat  here,  but  very  briefly,  what 
was  written  by  Felix  Davin — a  young  genius  snatched  from 
literature  by  an  early  death.  After  being  informed  of  my  plan, 
he  said  that  the  Scenes  of  Private  Life  represented  childhood 
and  youth  and  their  errors,  as  the  Scenes  of  Provincial  Life 
represented  the  age  of  passion,  scheming,  self-interest  and 
ambition.  Then  the  Scenes  of  Parisian  Life  give  a  picture 
of  the  tastes  and  vice  and  unbridled  powers  which  conduce 
to  the  habits  peculiar  to  great  cities,  where  the  extremes  of 
good  and  evil  meet.  Each  of  these  divisions  has  its  local 
color — Paris  and  the  Provinces — a  great  social  antithesis  which 
held  for  me  immense  resources. 

And  not  man  alone,  but  the  principal  events  of  life,  fall 
into  classes  by  types.  There  are  situations  which  occur  in 
every  life,  typical  phases,  and  this  is  one  of  the  details  I  most 
sought  after.  I  have  tried  to  give  an  idea  of  the  different 
districts  of  our  fine  country.  My  work  has  its  geography,  as 
it  has  its  genealogy  and  its  families,  its  places  and  things,  its 
persons  and  their  deeds ;  as  it  has  its  heraldry,  its  nobles  and 


liv  INTRODUCTION. 

commonalty,  its  artisans  and  peasants,  its  politicians  and 
dandies,  its  army — in  short,  a  whole  world  of  its  own. 

After  describing  social  life  in  these  three  portions,  I  had  to 
delineate  certain  exceptional  lives,  which  comprehend  the 
interests  of  many  people,  or  of  every  body,  and  are  in  a  degree 
outside  of  the  general  law.  Hence  we  have  Scenes  of  Political 
Life.  This  vast  picture  of  society  being  finished  and  com- 
plete, was  it  not  needful  to  display  it  in  its  most  violent 
phase,  beside  itself,  as  it  were,  either  in  self-defence,  or  for 
the  sake  of  conquest  ?  Hence  the  Scenes  of  Military  Life,  as 
yet  the  most  incomplete  portion  of  my  work,  but  for  which 
room  will  be  allowed  in  this  edition,  that  it  may  form  part  of 
it  when  done.  Finally,  the  Scenes  of  Country  Life  are,  in  a 
way,  the  evening  of  this  long  day,  if  I  may  so  call  the  social 
drama.  In  that  part  are  to  be  found  the  purest  natures,  and 
the  application  of  the  great  principles  of  order,  politics  and 
morality. 

Such  is  the  foundation,  full  of  actors,  full  of  comedies  and 
tragedies,  on  which  are  raised  the  Philosophical  Studies — the 
second  part  of  my  work,  in  which  the  social  instrument  of  all 
these  effects  is  displayed,  and  the  ravages  of  the  mind  are 
painted,  feeling  after  feeling;  the  first  of  this  series,  "Wild 
Ass'  Skin,"  to  some  extent  forms  a  link  between  the  Philo- 
sophical Studies  and  Studies  of  Manners,  by  a  work  of  almost 
Oriental  fancy,  in  which  life  itself  is  shown  in  a  mortal  strug- 
gle with  the  very  element  of  all  passion. 

In  looking  forward  to  what  remains  to  be  done,  my  readers 
will  perhaps  echo  what  my  publishers  say,  "  Please  God  to  spare 
you  !  "  I  only  ask  to  be  less  tormented  by  men  and  things 
than  I  have  hitherto  been  since  I  began  this  terrific  labor.  I 
have  had  this  in  my  favor,  and  I  thank  God  for  it,  that  the 
talents  of  the  time,  the  finest  characters  and  the  truest  friends, 
as  noble  in  their  private  lives  as  the  former  are  in  public  life, 
have  wrung  my  hand  and  said  "  courage  !  " 

And  why  should  I  not  confess  that  this  friendship,  and  the 


INTRODUCTION.  Iv 

testimony  here  and  there  of  persons  unknown  to  me,  have  up- 
held me  in  my  career,  both  against  myself  and  against  unjust 
attacks ;  against  the  calumny  which  has  often  persecuted  me, 
against  discouragement,  and  against  the  too  eager  hopefulness, 
whose  utterances  are  misinterpreted  as  those  of  overweening 
conceit?  I  had  resolved  to  display  stolid  stoicism  in  the  face 
of  abuse  and  insults  ;  but  on  two  occasions  base  slanders  have 
necessitated  a  reply.  Though  the  advocates  of  forgiveness  of 
injuries  may  regret  that  I  should  have  displayed  my  skill  in 
literary  fence,  there  are  many  Christians  who  are  of  opinion 
that  we  live  in  times  when  it  is  as  well  to  show  sometimes 
that  silence  springs  from  generosity. 

The  vastness  of  a  plan  which  includes  both  a  history  and  a 
criticism  of  society,  an  analysis  of  its  evils,  and  a  discussion 
of  its  principles,  authorizes  me,  I  think,  in  giving  my  work 
the  title  under  which  it  now  appears  —  "THE  COMEDIE 
HUMAINE."  Is  this  too  ambitious  ?  Is  it  not  exact  ?  That, 
when  it  is  complete,  the  public  must  pronounce. 

PARIS,  July,  1842. 


THE  WILD  ASS'  SKIN 


To   MONSIEUR  SAVARY 

Member  of  L!  Academic  des  Sciences 


STERNE — Tristram  Shandy,  ch.  cccxzi 


THE  TALISMAN. 

TOWARDS  the  end  of  the  month  of  October,  1829,  a  young 
man  entered  the  Palais-Royal  just  as  the  gaming-houses 
opened,  agreeably  to  the  law  which  protect*  a  passion  by  its 
very  nature  easily  excitable.  He  mounted  the  staircase  of 
one  of  the  gambling  hells  distinguished  by  the  number  36, 
without  too  much  deliberation. 

"Your  hat,  sir,  if  you  please?"  a  thin,  querulous  voice 
called  out.  A  little  old  man,  crouching  in  the  darkness  be- 
hind a  railing,  suddenly  rose  and  exhibited  his  features, 
carved  after  a  mean  design. 


2  THE    WILD  ASS'  SKIN. 

As  you  enter  a  gaming-house  the  law  despoils  you  of  your 
hat  at  the  outset.  Is  it  by  way  of  a  parable,  a  divine  revelation? 
Or  by  exacting  some  pledge  or  other,  is  not  an  infernal  com- 
pact implied  ?  Is  it  done  to  compel  you  to  preserve  a  re- 
spectful demeanor  towards  those  who  are  about  to  gain  money 
of  you  ?  Or  must  the  detective  who  squats  in  our  social  sewers 
know  the  name  of  your  hatter,  or  your  own,  if  you  happen  to 
have  written  it  on  the  lining  inside  ?  Or,  after  all,  is  the 
measurement  of  your  skull  required  for  the  compilation  of 
statistics  as  to  the  cerebral  capacity  of  gamblers  ?  The  execu- 
tive is  absolutely  silent  on  this  point.  But  be  sure  of  this, 
that  though  you  have  scarcely  taken  a  step  towards  the  tables, 
your  hat  no  more  belongs  to  you  now  than  you  belong  to 
yourself.  Play  possesses  you,  your  fortune,  your  cap,  your 
cane,  your  cloak. 

As  you  go  out,  it  will  be  made  clear  to  you,  by  a  savage 
irony,  that  play  has  yet  spared  you  something,  since  your 
property  is  returned.  For  all  that,  if  you  bring  a  new  hat 
with  you,  you  will  have  to  pay  for  the  knowledge  that  a 
special  costume  is  needed  for  a  gambler. 

The  evident  astonishment  with  which  the  young  man  took 
a  numbered  tally  in  exchange  for  his  hat,  which  was  fortu- 
nately somewhat  rubbed  at  the  brim,  showed  clearly  enough 
that  his  mind  was  yet  untainted  ;  and  the  little  old  man,  who 
had  wallowed  from  his  youth  up  in  the  furious  pleasures  of  a 
gambler's  life,  cast  a  dull,  indifferent  glance  over  him,  in 
which  a  philosopher  might  have  seen  wretchedness  lying  in 
the  hospital,  the  vagrant  lives  of  ruined  folk,  inquests  on 
numberless  suicides,  life-long  penal  servitude  and  transporta- 
tions to  Guazacoalco. 

His  pallid,  lengthy  visage  appeared  like  a  haggard  embodi- 
ment of  the  passion  reduced  to  its  simplest  terms.  There 
were  traces  of  past  anguish  in  its  wrinkles.  He  supported 
life  on  the  glutinous  soups  at  Darcet's,  and  gambled  away  his 
meagre  earnings  day  by  day.  Like  some  old  hackney  which 


THE    TALISMAN.  3 

takes  no  heed  of  the  strokes  of  the  whip,  nothing  could  move 
him  now.  The  stifled  groans  of  ruined  players,  as  they  passed 
out,  their  mute  imprecations,  their  stupefied  faces,  found  him 
impassive.  He  was  the  spirit  of  play  incarnate.  If  the 
young  man  had  noticed  this  sorry  Cerberus,  perhaps  he  would 
have  said,  "  There  is  only  a  pack  of  cards  in  that  heart  of 
his." 

The  stranger  did  not  heed  this  warning  written  in  flesh  and 
blood,  put  there,  no  doubt,  by  Providence,  who  has  set  loath- 
ing on  the  threshold  of  all  evil  haunts.  He  walked  boldly  into 
the  saloon,  where  the  rattle  of  coin  brought  his  senses  under  the 
dazzling  spell  of  an  agony  of  greed.  Most  likely  he  had  been 
drawn  thither  by  that  most  convincing  of  Jean  Jacques'  elo~ 
quent  periods,  which  expresses,  I  think,  this  melancholy 
thought,  "  Yes,  I  can  imagine  that  a  man  may  take  to  gam- 
bling when  he  sees  only  his  last  shilling  between  him  and 
death." 

There  is  an  illusion  about  a  gambling  saloon  at  night  as  vul- 
gar as  that  of  a  bloodthirsty  drama,  and  just  as  effective.  The 
rooms  are  filled  with  players  and  onlookers,  with  poverty- 
stricken  age,  which  drags  itself  thither  in  search  of  stimulation, 
with  excited  faces,  and  revels  that  began  in  wine,  to  end 
shortly  in  the  Seine.  The  passion  is  there  in  full  measure, 
but  the  great  number  of  the  actors  prevents  you  from  seeing 
the  gambling-demon  face  to  face.  The  evening  is  a  harmony 
or  chorus  in  which  all  take  part,  to  which  each  instrument  in 
the  orchestra  contributes  its  share.  You  would  see  there 
plenty  of  respectable  people  who  have  come  in  search  of  di- 
version, for  which  they  pay  as  they  pay  for  the  pleasures  of  the 
theatre,  or  of  gluttony,  or  they  come  hither  as  to  some  garret 
where  they  cheapen  poignant  regrets  for  three  months  to  come. 

Do  you  understand  all  the  force  and  frenzy  in  a  soul 
which  impatiently  waits  for  the  opening  of  a  gambling  hell  ? 
Between  the  daylight  gambler  and  the  player  at  night  there 
is  the  same  difference  that  lies  between  a  careless  husband 


4  THE    WILD  ASS'  SKIN. 

and  the  lover  swooning  under  his  lady's  window.  Only  with 
morning  comes  the  real  throb  of  the  passion  and  the  crav- 
ing in  its  stark  horror.  Then  you  can  admire  the  real  gam- 
bler, who  has  neither  eaten,  slept,  thought,  nor  lived,  he  has 
so  smarted  under  the  scourge  of  his  martingale,  so  suffered 
on  the  rack  of  his  desire  for  a  game  or  two  of  cards.  At 
that  accursed  hour  you  encounter  eyes  whose  calmness  ter- 
rifies you,  faces  that  fascinate,  glances  that  seem  as  if  they  had 
power  to  turn  the  cards  over  and  consume  them.  The  grand- 
est hours  of  a  gambling  saloon  are  not  the  opening  ones.  If 
Spain  has  bull-fights,  and  Rome  once  had  her  gladiators, 
Paris  waxes  proud  of  her  Palais-Royal,  where  the  inevitable 
roulettes  cause  blood  to  flow  in  streams,  and  the  public  can 
have  the  pleasure  of  watching  without  fear  of  their  feet  slip- 
ping in  it. 

Take  a  quiet  peep  at  the  arena.  How  bare  it  looks  !  The 
paper  on  the  walls  is  greasy  to  the  height  of  your  head,  there 
is  nothing  to  bring  one  reviving  thought.  There  is  not  so 
much  as  a  nail  for  the  convenience  of  suicides.  The  floor  is 
worn  and  dirty.  An  oblong  table  stands  in  the  middle  of 
the  room,  the  tablecloth  is  worn  by  the  friction  of  gold,  but 
the  straw-bottomed  chairs  about  it  indicate  an  odd  indiffer- 
ence to  luxury  in  the  men  who  will  lose  their  lives  here  in 
the  quest  of  the  fortune  that  is  to  put  luxury  within  their 
reach. 

This  contradiction  in  humanity  is  seen  wherever  the  soul 
reacts  powerfully  upon  itself.  The  gallant  would  clothe  his 
mistress  in  silks,  would  deck  her  out  in  soft  Eastern  fabrics, 
though  he  and  she  must  lie  on  a  truckle-bed.  The  ambitious 
dreamer  sees  himself  at  the  summit  of  power,  while  he  slav- 
ishly prostrates  himself  in  the  mire.  The  tradesman  stagnates 
in  his  damp,  unhealthy  shop,  while  he  builds  a  great  mansion 
for  his  son  to  inherit  prematurely,  only  to  be  ejected  from  it 
by  law  proceedings  at  his  own  brother's  instance. 

After  all,  is  there  a  less  pleasing  thing  in  the  world  than  a 


THE    TALISMAN.  5 

house  of  pleasure  ?  Singular  question  !  Man  is  always  at 
strife  with  himself.  His  present  woes  give  the  lie  to  his 
hopes ;  yet  he  looks  to  a  future  which  is  not  his,  to  indemnify 
him  for  these  present  sufferings ;  setting  upon  all  his  actions 
the  seal  of  inconsequence  and  of  the  weakness  of  his  nature. 
We  have  nothing  here  below  in  full  measure  but  mis- 
fortune. 

There  were  several  gamblers  in  the  room  already  when  the 
young  man  entered.  Three  bald-headed- seniors  were  loung- 
ing round  the  green  table.  Imperturbable  as  diplomatists, 
those  plaster-cast  faces  of  theirs  betokened  blunted  sensibil- 
ities, and  hearts  which  had  long  forgotten  how  to  throb,  even 
when  a  woman's  dowry  was  the  stake.  A  young  Italian, 
olive-hued  and  dark-haired,  sat  at  one  end,  with  his  elbows 
on  the  table,  seeming  to  listen  to  the  presentiments  of  luck 
that  dictate  a  gambler's  "  Yes  "  or  "  No."  The  glow  of  fire 
and  gold  was  on  that  southern  face.  Some  seven  or  eight 
onlookers  stood,  by  way  of  an  audience,  awaiting  a  drama 
composed  of  the  strokes  of  chance,  the  faces  of  the  actors, 
the  circulation  of  coin,  and  the  motion  of  the  croupier's 
rake,  much  as  a  silent,  motionless  crowd  watches  the  heads- 
man in  the  Place  de  Greve.  A  tall,  thin  man,  in  a  threadbare 
coat,  held  a  card  in  one  hand,  and  a  pin  in  the  other,  to 
mark  the  numbers  of  red  or  black.  He  seemed  a  modern 
Tantalus,  with  all  the  pleasures  of  his  epoch  at  his  lips,  a 
hoardless  miser  drawing  in  imaginary  gains,  a  sane  species  of 
lunatic  who  consoles  himself  in  his  misery  by  chimerical 
dreams,  a  man  who  touches  peril  and  vice  as  a  young  priest 
handles  the  unconsecrated  wafer  in  the  white  mass. 

One  or  two  experts  at  the  game,  shrewd  speculators,  had 
placed  themselves  opposite  the  bank,  like  old  convicts,  who 
have  lost  all  fear  of  the  hulks ;  they  meant  to  try  two  or 
three  coups,  and  then  to  depart  at  once  with  the  expected 
gains,  on  which  they  lived.  Two  elderly  waiters  dawdled 
about  with  their  arms  folded,  looking  from  time  to  time  into 


6  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

the  garden  from  the  windows,  as  if  to  show  their  insignificant 
faces  as  a  sign  to  passers-by. 

The  croupier  and  banker  threw  a  ghastly  and  withering 
glance  at  the  punters,  and  cried,  in  a  sharp  voice,  "  Make 
your  game!"  as  the  young  man  came  in.  The  silence 
seemed  to  grow  deeper  as  all  heads  turned  curiously  towards 
the  new  arrival.  Who  would  have  thought  it  ?  The  jaded 
elders,  the  fossilized  waiters,  the  onlookers,  the  fanatical 
Italian  himself,  felt  an  indefinable  dread  at  sight  of  the 
stranger.  Is  he  not  wretched  indeed  who  can  excite  pity 
here  ?  Must  he  not  be  very  helpless  to  receive  sympathy, 
ghastly  in  appearance  to  raise  a  shudder  in  these  places, 
where  pain  utters  no  cry,  where  wretchedness  looks  gay,  and 
despair  is  decorous  ?  Such  thoughts  as  these  produced  a 
new -emotion  in  these  torpid  hearts  as  the  young  man  entered. 
Were  not  executioners  known  to  shed  tears  over  the  fair- 
haired,  girlish  heads  that  had  to  fall  at  the  bidding  of  the 
Revolution? 

The  gamblers  saw  at  a  glance  a  dreadful  mystery  in  the 
novice's  face.  His  young  features  were  stamped  with  a 
melancholy  grace,  his  looks  told  of  unsuccess  and  many 
blighted  hopes.  The  dull  apathy  of  the  suicide  had  made 
his  forehead  so  deadly  pale,  a  bitter  smile  carved  faint  lines 
about  the  corners  of  his  mouth,  and  there  was  an  abandon- 
ment about  him  that  was  painful  to  see.  Some  sort  of  a 
demon  sparkled  in  the  depth  of  his  eyes,  which  drooped, 
wearied  perhaps  with  pleasure.  Could  it  have  been  dissi- 
pation that  had  set  its  foul  mark  on  the  proud  face,  once 
pure  and  bright,  and  now  brought  low?  Any  doctor  seeing 
the  yellow  circles  about  his  eyelids,  and  the  color  in  his 
cheeks,  would  have  set  them  down  to  some  affection  of 
the  heart  or  lungs,  while  poets  would  have  attributed  them 
to  the  havoc  brought  by  the  search  for  knowledge  and  to 
night-vigils  by  the  student's  lamp. 

But  a  complaint  more    fatal  than    any  disease,  a   disease 


THE    TALISMAN.  7 

more  merciless  than  genius  or  study,  had  drawn  this  young 
face,  and  had  wrung  a  heart  which  dissipation,  study,  and 
sickness  had  scarcely  disturbed.  When  a  notorious  criminal 
is  taken  to  the  convicts'  prison,  the  prisoners  welcome  him 
respectfully,  and  these  evil  spirits  in  human  shape,  experi- 
enced in  torments,  bowed  before  an  unheard-of  anguish.  By 
the  depth  of  the  wound  which  met  their  eyes,  they  recog- 
nized a  prince  among  them,  by  the  majesty  of  his  unspoken 
irony,  by  the  refined  wretchedness  of  his  garb.  The  frock- 
coat  that  he  wore  was  well  cut,  but  his  cravat  was  on  terms 
so  intimate  with  his  waistcoat  that  no  one  could  suspect 
him  of  underlinen.  His  hands,  shapely  as  a  woman's,  were 
not  perfectly  clean  ;  for  two  days  past  indeed  he  had  ceased 
to  wear  gloves.  If  the  very  croupier  and  the  waiters  shud- 
dered, it  was  because  some  traces  of  the  spell  of  innocence 
yet  hung  about  his  meagre,  delicately-shaped  form,  and  his 
scanty  fair  hair  in  its  natural  curls. 

He  looked  only  about  twenty-five  years  of  age,  and  any 
trace  of  vice  in  his  face  seemed  to  be  there  by  accident.  A 
young  constitution  still  resisted  the  inroads  of  lubricity. 
Darkness  and  light,  annihilation  and  existence,  seemed  to 
struggle  in  him,  with  effects  of  mingled  beauty  and  terror. 
There  he  stood  like  some  erring  angel  that  has  lost  his  radi- 
ance ;  and  these  emeritus-professors  of  vice  and  shame  were 
ready  to  bid  the  novice  depart,  even  as  some  toothless  crone 
might  be  seized  with  pity  for  a  beautiful  girl  who  offers 
herself  up  to  infamy. 

The  young  man  went  straight  up  to  the  table,  and,  as 
he  stood  there,  flung  down  a  piece  of  gold  which  he  held 
in  his  hand,  without  deliberation.  It  rolled  on  to  the  black; 
then,  as  strong  natures  can,  he  looked  calmly,  if  anxious- 
ly, at  the  croupier,  as  if  he  held  useless  subterfuges  in 
scorn. 

The  interest  this  coup  awakened  was  so  great  that  the  old 
gamesters  laid  nothing  upon  it ;  only  the  Italian,  inspired 


8  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

by  a  gambler's  enthusiasm,  ^smiled  suddenly  at  some  thought, 
and  punted  his  heap  of  coin  against  the  stranger's  stake. 

The  banker  forgot  to  pronounce  the  phrases  that  use  and 
wont  have  reduced  to  an  inarticulate  cry — "Make  your 

game The  game  is  made Bets  are  closed  !  "  The 

croupier  spread  out  the  cards,  and  seemed  to  wish  luck  to 
the  new-comer,  indifferent  as  he  was  to  the  losses  or  gains 
of  those  who  took  part  in  these  sombre  pleasures.  Every 
bystander  thought  he  saw  a  drama,  the  closing  scene  of  a 
noble  life,  in  the  fortunes  of  that  bit  of  gold ;  and  eagerly 
fixed  his  eyes  on  the  prophetic  cards;  but  however  closely 
they  watched  the  young  man,  they  could  discover  not  the 
least  sign  of  feeling  on  his  cool  but  restless  face. 

"Even!  ra/wins,"  said  the  croupier  officially.  A  dumb 
sort  of  rattle  came  from  the  Italian's  throat  when  he  saw 
the  folded  notes  that  the  banker  showered  upon  him,  one 
after  another.  The  young  man  only  understood  his  calamity 
when  the  croupier's  rake  was  extended  to  sweep  away  his 
last  napoleon.  The  ivory  touched  the  coin  with  a  little 
click,  as  it  swept  it  with  the  speed  of  an  arrow  into  the 
heap  of  gold  before  the  bank.  The  stranger  turned  pale  at 
the  lips,  and  softly  shut  his  eyes,  but  he  unclosed  them  again 
at  once,  and  the  red  color  returned  as  he  affected  the  airs 
of  an  Englishman,  to  whom  life  can  offer  no  new  sensation, 
and  disappeared  without  the  glance  full  of  entreaty  for  com- 
passion that  a  desperate  gamester  will  often  give  the  bystanders. 
How  much  can  happen  in  a  second's  space;  how  many 
things  depend  on  a  throw  of  the  die ! 

"That  was  his  last  cartridge,  of  course,"  said  the  croupier, 
smiling  after  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  he  picked  up 
the  coin  between  his  finger  and  thumb  and  held  it  up. 

"  He  is  a  cracked  brain  that  will  go  and  drown  him- 
self," said  a  frequenter  of  the  place.  He  looked  round  about 
at  the  other  players,  who  all  knew  each  other. 

"Bah!"  said  a  waiter,  as  he  took  a  pinch  of  snuff. 


THE    TALISMAN.  y 

"If  we  had  but  followed  his  example,"  said  an  old  game- 
ster to  the  others,  as  he  pointed  out  the  Italian. 

Everybody  looked  at  the  lucky  player,  whose  hands  shook 
as  he  counted  his  bank-notes. 

"  A  voice  seemed  to  whisper  to  me, "  he  said.  "  The  luck 
is  sure  to  go  against  that  young  man's  despair." 

"  He  is  a  new  hand,"  said  the  banker,  "  or  he  would  have 
divided  his  money  into  three  parts  to  give  himself  more 
chance." 

The  young  man  went  out  without  asking  for  his  hat ;  but 
the  old  watch-dog,  who  had  noted  its  shabby  condition, 
returned  it  to  him  without  a  word.  The  gambler  mechani- 
cally gave  up  the  tally,  and  went  down-stairs  whistling  Di 
tanti  Palpiti  so  feebly,  that  he  himself  scarcely  heard  the  delic- 
ious notes. 

He  found  himself  immediately  under  the  arcades  of  the 
Palais- Royal,  reached  the  Rue  Saint  Honore,  took  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Tuileries,  and  crossed  the  gardens  with  an  unde- 
cided step.  He  walked  as  if  he  were  in  some  desert,  elbowed 
by  men  whom  he  did  not  see,  hearing  through  all  the  voices 
of  the  crowd  one  voice  alone — the  voice  of  Death.  He  was 
lost  in  the  thoughts  that  benumbed  him  at  last,  like  the  crim- 
inals who  used  to  be  taken  in  carts  from  the  Palais  de  Justice 
to  the  Place  de  Greve,  where  the  scaffold  awaited  them  red- 
dened with  all  the  blood  spilt  there  since  1793. 

There  is  something  great  and  terrible  about  suicide.  Most 
people's  downfalls  are  not  dangerous ;  they  are  like  children 
who  have  not  far  to  fall,  and  cannot  injure  themselves ;  but 
when  a  great  nature  is  dashed  down,  he  is  bound  to  fall  from 
a  height.  He  must  have  been  raised  almost  to  the  skies; 
he  has  caught  glimpses  of  some  heaven  beyond  his  reach. 
Vehement  must  the  storms  be  which  compel  a  soul  to  seek 
for  peace  from  the  trigger  of  a  pistol. 

How  much  young  power  starves  and  pines  away  in  a  garret 
for  want  of  a  friend,  for  lack  of  a  woman's  consolation,  in  the 


10  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

midst  of  millions  of  fellow-creatures,  in  the  presence  of  a 
listless  crowd  that  is  burdened  by  its  wealth !  When  one 
remembers  all  this,  suicide  looms  large.  Between  a  self- 
sought  death  and  the  abundant  hopes  whose  voices  call  a 
young  man  to  Paris,  God  only  knows  what  may  intervene ; 
what  contending  ideas  have  striven  within  the  soul  ;  what 
poems  have  been  set  aside ;  what  moans  and  what  despair 
have  been  repressed  ;  what  abortive  masterpieces  and  vain 
endeavors !  Every  suicide  is  an  awful  poem  of  sorrow. 
Where  will  you  find  a  work  of  genius  floating  above  the  seas 
of  literature  that  can  compare  with  this  paragraph : — 

"Yesterday,  at  four  o'clock,  a  young  woman  threw  herself 
into  the  Seine  from  the  Pont  des  Arts." 

Dramas  and  romances  pale  before  this  concise  Parisian 
phrase;  so  must  even  that  old  frontispiece,  "The  Lamenta- 
tions of  the  glorious  king  of  Kaernavan,  put  in  prison  by  his 
children,"  the  sole  remaining  fragment  of  a  lost  work  that 
drew  tears  from  Sterne  at  the  bare  perusal — the  same  Sterne 
who  deserted  his  own  wife  and  family. 

The  stranger  was  beset  with  such  thoughts  as  these,  which 
passed  in  fragments  through  his  mind,  like  tattered  flags  flut- 
tering above  the  combat.  If  he  set  aside  for  a  moment  the 
burdens  of  consciousness  and  of  memory,  to  watch  the  flower 
heads  gently  swayed  by  the  breeze  among  the  green  thickets, 
a  revulsion  came  over  him,  life  struggled  against  the  oppres- 
sive thought  of  suicide,  and  his  eyes  rose  to  the  sky :  gray 
clouds,  melancholy  gusts  of  the  wind,  the  stormy  atmosphere, 
all  decreed  that  he  should  die. 

He  bent  his  way  toward  the  Pont  Royal,  musing  over  the 
last  fancies  of  others  who  had  gone  before  him.  He  smiled 
to  himself  as  he  remembered  that  Lord  Castlereagh  had  satis- 
fied the  humblest  of  our  needs  before  he  cut  his  throat,  and 
that  the  academician  Auger  had  sought  for  his  snuff-box  as 
he  went  to  his  death.  He  analyzed  these  extravagances,  and 
even  examined  himself;  for  as  he  stood  aside  against  the 


THE    TALISMAN.  11 

parapet  to  allow  a  porter  to  pass,  his  coat  had  been  whit- 
ened somewhat  by  the  contact,  and  he  carefully  brushed  the 
dust  from  his  sleeve,  to  his  own  surprise.  He  reached  the 
middle  of  the  arch,  and  looked  forebodingly  at  the  water. 

"  Wretched  weather  for  drowning  yourself,"  said  a  ragged 
old  woman,  who  grinned  at  him  ;  "  isn't  the  Seine  cold  and 
dirty?" 

His  answer  was  a  ready  smile,  which  showed  the  frenzied 
nature  of  his  courage  ;  then  he  shivered  all  at  once  as  he  saw 
at  a  distance,  by  the  door  of  the  Tuileries,  a  shed  with  an 
inscription  above  it  in  letters  twelve  inches  high :  THE  ROYAL 
HUMANE  SOCIETY'S  APPARATUS. 

A  vision  of  M.  Dacheux  rose  before  him,  equipped  by  his 
philanthropy,  calling  out  and  setting  in  motion  the  too  effi- 
cacious oars  which  break  the  heads  of  drowning  men,  if 
unluckily  they  should  rise  to  the  surface ;  he  saw  a  curious 
crowd  collecting,  running  for  a  doctor,  preparing  fumigations; 
he  read  the  maundering  paragraph  in  the  papers,  put  between 
notes  on  a  festivity  and  on  the  smiles  of  a  ballet  dancer;  he 
heard  the  francs  counted  down  by  the  prefect  of  police  to  the 
watermen.  As  a  corpse,  he  was  worth  fifteen  francs  ;  but  now 
while  he  lived  he  was  only  a  man  of  talent  without  patrons, 
without  friends,  without  a  mattress  to  lie  on,  or  any  one  to 
speak  a  word  for  him — a  perfect  social  cipher,  useless  to  a 
State  which  gave  itself  no  trouble  about  him. 

A  death  in  broad  daylight  seemed  degrading  to  him ;  he 
made  up  his  mind  to  die  at  night  so  as  to  bequeath  an  unrecog- 
nizable corpse  to  a  world  which  had  disregarded  the  greatness 
of  his  life.  He  began  his  wanderings  again,  turning  towards 
the  Quai  Voltaire,  imitating  the  lagging  gait  of  an  idler  seek- 
ing to  kill  time.  As  he  came  down  the  steps  at  the  end  of 
the  bridge,  his  attention  was  drawn  to  the  second-hand  books 
displayed  on  the  parapet,  and  he  was  on  the  point  of  bargain- 
ing for  some.  He  smiled,  thrust  his  hands  philosophically 
into  his  pockets,  and  fell  to  strolling  on  again  with  a  proud 


12  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

disdain  in  his  manner,  when  he  heard  to  his  surprise  some 
coin  rattling  fantastically  in  his  pocket. 

A  smile  of  hope  lit  his  face,  and  slid  from  his  lips  over  his 
features,  over  his  brow,  and  brought  a  joyful  light  to  his  eyes 
and  his  dark  cheeks.  It  was  a  spark  of  happiness  like  one  of 
the  red  dots  that  flit  over  the  remains  of  a  burnt  scrap  of 
paper ;  but  as  it  is  with  the  black  ashes,  so  it  was  with  his  face, 
it  became  dull  again  when  he  drew  out  his  hand  and  perceived 
only  three  pennies. 

A  little  chimney-sweeper,  with  puffed  cheeks,  all  black  with 
soot,  and  clad  in  tatters,  held  out  his  hand  to  beg  for  the 
man's  last  pence. 

"Ah,  kind  gentleman  !  charity,  charity :  for  the  love  of  St. 
Catherine  !  only  a  halfpenny  to  buy  some  bread  !  " 

Two  paces  from  the  little  Savoyard  stood  an  old  pauvre 
hontcux,*  sickly  and  feeble,  in  wretched  garments  of  ragged 
druggeting,  who  asked  in  a  thick,  muffled  voice — 

"Anything  you  like  to  give,  monsieur;  I  will  pray  to  God 
for  you " 

But  the  young  man  turned  his  eyes  on  him,  and  the  old 
beggar  stopped  without  another  word,  discerning  in  that 
mournful  face  an  abandonment  of  wretchedness  more  bitter 
than  his  own. 

"Charity!  charity!" 

The  young  man  threw  the  coins  to  the  old  man  and  the 
child,  left  the  footway,  and  turned  towards  the  houses  ;  the 
harrowing  sight  of  the  Seine  fretted  him  beyond  endurance. 

"  May  God  lengthen  your  days  !"  cried  the  two  beggars. 

As  he  reached  the  shop  window  of  a  print  seller,  this  man 
on  the  brink  of  death  met  a  young  woman  alighting  from  a 
showy  carriage.  He  looked  in  delight  at  her  prettiness,  at 
the  pale  face  appropriately  framed  by  the  satin  of  her  fashion- 
able bonnet.  Her  slender  form  and  graceful  movements 
entranced  him.  Her  skirt  had  been  slightly  raised  as  she 
*  Bashful  beggar. 


THE    TALISMAN.  13 

stepped  to  the  pavement,  disclosing  a  daintily-fitting  white 
stocking  over  the  delicate  outlines  beneath.  The  young  lady 
went  into  the  shop  and  purchased  albums  and  sets  of  litho- 
graphs ;  giving  several  gold  coins  for  them,  which  glittered 
and  rang  upon  the  counter.  The  young  man,  seemingly  occu- 
pied with  the  prints  in  the  window,  fixed  upon  the  fair  stranger 
a  gaze  as  eager  as  man  can  give,  to  receive  in  exchange  an 
indifferent  glance,  such  as  lights  by  accident  on  a  passer-by. 
For  him  it  was  a  leave-taking  of  love  and  of  woman  !  but  his 
final  and  strenuous  questioning  glance  was  neither  understood 
nor  felt  by  the  slight-natured  woman  there  ;  her  color  did  not 
rise,  her  eyes  did  not  droop.  What  was  it  to  her?  one  more 
piece  of  adulation,  yet  another  sigh  only  prompted  the  delight- 
ful thought  at  night,  "I  looked  rather  well  to-day." 

The  young  man  quickly  turned  to  another  picture,  and  only 
left  it  when  she  returned  to  her  carriage.  The  horses  started 
off,  the  final  vision  of  luxury  and  refinement  went  under  an 
eclipse,  just  as  that  life  of  his  would  soon  do  also.  Slowly 
and  sadly  he  followed  the  line  of  the  shops,  listlessly  examin- 
ing the  specimens  on  view.  When  the  shops  came  to  an  end, 
he  reviewed  the  Louvre,  the  Institute,  the  towers  of  Notre 
Dame,  of  the  Palais,  the  Pont  des  Arts ;  all  these  public 
monuments  seemed  to  have  taken  their  tone  from  the  heavy 
gray  sky. 

Fitful  gleams  of  light  gave  a  foreboding  look  to  Paris ;  like 
a  pretty  woman,  the  city  has  mysterious  fits  of  ugliness  or 
beauty.  So  the  outer  world  seemed  to  be  in  a  plot  to  steep 
this  man  about  to  die  in  a  painful  trance.  A  prey  to  the 
maleficent  power  which  acts  relaxingly  upon  us  by  the  fluid 
circulating  through  our  nerves,  his  whole  frame  seemed  gradu- 
ally to  experience  a  dissolving  process.  He  felt  the  anguish 
of  these  throes  passing  through  him  in  waves,  and  the  houses 
and  the  crowd  seemed  to  surge  to  and  fro  in  a  mist  before  his 
eyes.  He  tried  to  escape  the  agitation  wrought  in  his  mind 
by  the  revulsions  of  his  physical  nature,  and  went  toward  the 
2 


14  THE    WILD  ASS1    SKIN. 

shop  of  a  dealer  in  antiquities,  thinking  to  give  a  treat  to  his 
senses,  and  to  spend  the  interval  till  nightfall  in  bargaining 
over  curiosities. 

He  sought,  one  might  say,  to  regain  courage  and  to  find  a 
stimulant,  like  a  criminal  who  doubts  his  power  to  reach  the 
scaffold.  The  consciousness  of  approaching  death  gave  him, 
for  the  time  being,  the  intrepidity  of  a  duchess  with  a  couple 
of  lovers,  so  that  he  entered  the  place  with  an  abstracted  look, 
while  his  lips  displayed  a  set  smile  like  a  drunkard's.  Had 
not  life,  or  rather  had  not  death,  intoxicated  him  ?  Dizziness 
soon  overcame  him  again.  Things  appeared  to  him  in  strange 
colors,  or  as  making  slight  movements ;  his  irregular  pulse 
was  no  doubt  the  cause  ;  the  blood  that  sometimes  rushed  like 
a  burning  torrent  through  his  veins,  and  sometimes  lay  torpid 
and  stagnant  as  tepid  water.  He  merely  asked  leave  to  see  if 
the  shop  contained  any  curiositiesywhich  he  required. 

A  plump-faced  young  shopman  with  red  hair,  in  an  otter- 
skin  cap,  left  an  old  peasant  woman  in  charge  of  the  shop — a 
sort  of  feminine  Caliban,  employed  in  cleaning  a  stove  made 
marvelous  by  Bernard  Palissy's  work.  This  youth  remarked 
carelessly — 

"Look  round,  monsieur!  We  have  nothing  very  re- 
markable here  down  stairs ;  but  if  I  may  trouble  you  to  go 
up  to  the  first  floor,  I  will  show  you  some  very  fine  mum- 
mies from  Cairo,  some  inlaid  pottery,  and  some  carved  ebony 
— genuine  Renaissance  work,  just  come  in,  and  of  perfect 
beauty." 

In  the  young  man's  fearful  position  this  cicerone's  prattle  and 
shopman's  empty  talk  seemed  like  the  petty  vexations  by  which 
narrow  minds  destroy  a  man  of  genius.  But  as  he  must  even 
go  through  with  it,  he  appeared  to  listen  to  his  guide,  answer- 
ing him  by  gestures  or  monosyllables;  but  imperceptibly  he 
arrogated  the  privilege  of  saying  nothing,  and  gave  himself 
up  without  hindrance  to  his  closing  meditations,  which  were 
appalling.  He  had  a  poet's  temperament,  his  mind  had 


THE    TALISMAN.  15 

entered  by  chance  on  a  vast  field  ;  and  he  must  see  perforce 
the  dry  bones  of  twenty  future  worlds. 

At  a  first  glance  the  place  presented  a  confused  picture  in 
which  every  achievement,  human  and  divine,  was  mingled. 
Crocodiles,  monkeys,  and  serpents  stuffed  with  straw  grinned 
at  glass  from  church  windows,  seemed  to  wish  to  bite  sculp- 
tured heads,  to  chase  lacquered  work,  or  to  scramble  up  chan- 
deliers. A  Sevres  vase,  bearing  Napoleon's  portrait  by  Mine. 
Jacotot,  stood  beside  a  sphinx  dedicated  to  Sesostris.  The 
beginnings  of  the  world  and  the  events  of  yesterday  were 
mingled  with  grotesque  cheerfulness.  A  kitchen  jack  leaned 
against  a  pyx,  a  republican  sabre  on  a  mediaeval  hackbut. 
Mme.  du  Barry,  with  a  star  above  her  head,  naked,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  cloud,  seemed  to  look  longingly  out  of  Latour's 
pastel  at  an  Indian  chibook,  while  she  tried  to  guess  the  pur- 
pose of  the  spiral  curves  that  wound  towards  her.  Instru- 
ments of  death,  poniards,  curious  pistols,  and  disguised 
weapons  had  been  flung  down  pell-mell  among  the  parapher- 
nalia of  daily  life ;  porcelain  tureens,  Dresden  plates,  trans- 
lucent cups  from  China,  old  salt-cellars,  comfit-boxes  belong- 
ing to  feudal  times.  A  carved  ivory  ship  sped  full  sail  on 
the  back  of  a  motionless  tortoise. 

The  Emperor  Augustus  remained  unmoved  and  imperial 
with  an  air-pump  thrust  into  one  eye.  Portraits  of  French 
sheriffs  and  Dutch  burgomasters,  phlegmatic  now  as  when  in 
life,  looked  down  pallid  and  unconcerned  on  the  chaos  of 
past  ages  below  them. 

Every  land  of  earth  seemed  to  have  contributed  some  stray 
fragment  of  its  learning,  some  example  of  its  art.  Nothing 
seemed  lacking  to  this  philosophical  kitchen-midden,  from  a 
redskin's  calumet,  a  green  and  golden  slipper  from  the  serag- 
lio, a  Moorish  yataghan,  a  Tartar  idol,  to  the  soldier's  tobacco 
pouch,  to  the  priest's  ciborium,  and  the  plumes  that  once 
adorned  a  throne.  This  extraordinary  combination  was  ren- 
dered yet  more  bizarre  by  the  accidents  of  lighting,  by  a 


16  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

multitude  of  confused  reflections  of  various  hues,  by  the 
sharp  contrast  of  blacks  and  whites.  Broken  cries  seemed  to 
reach  the  ear,  unfinished  dramas  seized  upon  the  imagination, 
smothered  lights  caught  the  eye.  A  thin  coating  of  invisi- 
ble dust  covered  all  the  multitudinous  corners  and  convolu- 
tions of  these  objects  of  various  shapes  which  gave  highly 
picturesque  effects. 

First  of  all,  the  young  man  compared  the  three  galleries 
which  civilization,  cults,  divinities,  masterpieces,  dominions, 
carousals,  sanity,  and  madness  had  filled  to  repletion,  to  a 
mirror  with  numerous  facets,  each  depicting  a  world.  After 
this  first  hazy  idea  he  would  fain  have  selected  his  pleasures, 
but  by  dint  of  using  his  eyes,  thinking  and  musing,  a  fever 
began  to  possess  him,  caused  perhaps  by  the  gnawing  pain  of 
hunger.  The  spectacle  of  so  much  existence,  individual  or 
national,  to  which  these  pledges  bore  witness,  ended  by 
numbing  his  senses — the  purpose  with  which  he  entered 
the  shop  was  fulfilled.  He  had  left  the  real  behind,  and 
had  climbed  gradually  up  to  an  ideal  world ;  he  had  at 
tained  to  the  enchanted  palace  of  ecstasy,  whence  the  universe 
appeared  to  him  by  fragments  and  in  shapes  of  flame,  as 
once  the  future  blazed  out  before  the  eyes  of  St.  John  in 
Patmos. 

A  crowd  of  sorrowing  faces,  beneficent  and  appalling,  dark 
and  luminous,  far  and  near,  gathered  in  numbers,  in  myriads, 
in  whole  generations.  Egypt,  rigid  and  mysterious,  arose 
from  her  sands  in  the  form  of  a  mummy  swathed  in  black 
bandages  ;  then  the  Pharaohs  swallowed  up  nations,  that  they 
might  build  themselves  a  tomb;  and  he  beheld  Moses  and 
the  Hebrews  and  the  desert,  and  a  solemn  antique  world. 
Fresh  and  joyous,  a  marble  statue  spoke  to  him  from  a  twisted 
column  of  the  pleasure-loving  myths  of  Greece  and  Ionia. 
Ah !  who  would  not  have  smiled  with  him  to  see,  against  the 
earthen,  red  background,  the  brown-faced  maiden  dancing 
with  gleeful  reverence  before  the  god  Priapus,  wrought  in  the 


THE    TALISMAN.  17 

fine  clay  of  an  Etruscan  vase  ?  The  Latin  queen  caressed  her 
chimera. 

The  whims  of  imperial  Rome  were  there  in  life,  the  bath 
was  disclosed,  the  toilette  of  a  languid  Julia,  dreaming,  wait- 
ing for  her  Tibullus.  Strong  with  the  might  of  Arabic  spells, 
the  head  of  Cicero  evoked  memories  of  a  free  Rome,  and 
unrolled  before  him  the  scrolls  of  Titus  Livius.  The  young 
man  beheld  Senatus  Pc/pulusque  Romanus ;  consuls,  lictors, 
togas  with  purple  fringes ;  the  fighting  in  the  Forum,  the 
angry  people,  passed  in  review  before  him  like  the  cloudy 
faces  of  a  dream. 

Then  Christian  Rome  predominated  in  his  vision.  A 
painter  had  laid  heaven  open  ;  he  beheld  the  Virgin  Mary 
wrapped  in  a  golden  cloud  among  the  angels,  shining  more 
brightly  than  the  sun,  receiving  the  prayers  of  sufferers, 
on  whom  this  second  Eve  Regenerate  smiles  pityingly.  At 
the  touch  of  a  mosaic,  made  of  various  lavas  from  Vesuvius 
and  Etna,  his  fancy  fled  to  the  hot  tawny  south  of  Italy. 
He  was  present  at  Borgia's  orgies,  he  roved  among  the 
Abruzzi,  sought  for  Italian  love  intrigues,  grew  ardent  over 
pale  faces  and  dark,  almond-shaped  eyes.  He  shivered  over 
midnight  adventures,  cut  short  by  the  cool  thrust  of  a  jealous 
blade,  as  he  saw  a  mediaeval  dagger  with  a  hilt  wrought  like 
lace,  and  spots  of  rust  like  splashes  of  blood  upon  it. 

India  and  its  religions  took  the  shape  of  the  idol  with  his 
peaked  cap  of  fantastic  form,  with  little  bells,  clad  in  silk 
and  gold.  Close  by,  a  mat,  as  pretty  as  the  bayadere  who 
once  lay  upon  it,  still  gave  out  a  faint  scent  of  sandal  wood. 
His  fancy  was  stirred  by  a  goggle-eyed  Chinese  monster,  with 
mouth  awry  and  twisted  limbs,  the  invention  of  a  people 
who,  grown  weary  of  the  monotony  of  beauty,  found  an 
indescribable  pleasure  in  an  infinite  variety  of  ugliness.  A 
salt-cellar  from  Benvenuto  Cellini's  workshop  carried  him 
back  to  the  Renaissance  at  its  height,  to  the  time  when  there 
was  no  restraint  on  art  or  morals,  when  torture  was  the  sport 


18  THE    WILD  ASS1    SKIN. 

of  sovereigns ;  and  from  their  councils,  churchmen  with 
courtesans'  arms  about  them  issued  decrees  of  chastity  for 
simple  priests. 

On  a  cameo  he  saw  the  conquests  of  Alexander,  the  mas- 
sacres of  Pizarro  in  a  matchlock,  and  religious  wars  dis- 
orderly, fanatical,  and  cruel,  in  the  shadows  of  a  helmet. 
Joyous  pictures  of  chivalry  were  called  up  by  a  suit  of  Milan- 
ese armor,  brightly  polished  and  richly  wrought ;  a  paladin's 
eyes  seemed  to  sparkle  yet  under  the  visor. 

This  sea  of  inventions,  fashions,  furniture,  works  of  art 
and  fiascos,  made  for  him  a  poem  without  end.  Shapes  and 
colors  and  projects  all  lived  again  for  him,  but  his  mind  re- 
ceived no  clear  and  perfect  conception.  It  was  the  poet's 
task  to  complete  the  sketches  of  the  great  master,  who  had 
scornfully  mingled  on  his  palette  the  hues  of  the  numberless 
vicissitudes  of  human  life.  When  the  world  at  large  at  last 
released  him,  when  he  had  pondered  over  many  lands,  many 
epochs,  and  various  empires,  the  young  man  came  back  to  the 
life  of  the  individual.  He  impersonated  fresh  characters, 
and  turned  his  mind  to  details,  rejecting  the  life  of  nations 
as  a  burden  too  overwhelming  for  a  single  soul. 

Yonder  was  a  sleeping  child,  modeled  in  wax,  a  relic  of 
Ruysch's  collection,  an  enchanting  creation  which  brought 
back  the  happiness  of  his  own  childhood.  The  cotton  gar- 
ment of  a  Tahitian  maid  next  fascinated  him  ;  he  beheld  the 
primitive  life  of  nature,  the  real  modesty  of  naked  chastity, 
the  joys  of  an  idleness  natural  to  mankind,  a  peaceful  fate  by 
a  slow  river  of  sweet  water  under  a  plantain  tree  that  bears  its 
pleasant  manna  without  the  toil  of  man.  Then  all  at  once 
he  became  a  corsair,  investing  himself  with  the  terrible 
poetry  that  Lara  has  given  to  the  part :  the  thought  came  at  the 
sight  of  the  mother-of-pearl  tints  of  a  myriad  of  sea-shells,  and 
grew  as  he  saw  madrepores  redolent  of  the  sea-weeds  and  the 
storms  of  the  Atlantic. 

The  sea  was  forgotten  again  at  a  distant  view  of  exquisite 


THE    TALISMAN.  19 

miniatures;  he  admired  a  precious  missal  in  manuscript, 
adorned  with  arabesques  in  gold  and  blue.  Thoughts  of 
peaceful  life  swayed  him ;  he  devoted  himself  afresh  to  study 
and  research,  longing  for  the  easy  life  of  the  monk,  devoid 
alike  of  cares  and  pleasures;  and  from  the  depths  of  his  cell 
he  looked  out  upon  the  meadows,  woods,  and  vineyards  of  his 
convent.  Pausing  before  some  work  of  Teniers,  he  took  for 
his  own  the  helmet  of  the  soldier  or  the  poverty  of  the  arti- 
san ;  he  wished  to  wear  a  smoke-begrimed  cap  with  these 
Flemings,  to  drink  their  beer  and  join  their  game  at  cards, 
and  smiled  upon  the  comely  plumpness  of  a  peasant  woman. 
He  shivered  at  a  snowstorm  by  Mieris ;  he  seemed  to  take 
part  in  Salvator  Rosa's  battle-piece;  he  ran  his  fingers  over  a 
tomahawk  from  Illinois,  and  felt  his  own  hair  rise  as  he 
touched  a  Cherokee  scalping-knife.  He  marveled  over  the 
rebec  that  he  set  in  the  hands  of  some  lady  of  the  land,  drank 
in  the  musical  notes  of  her  ballad,  and  in  the  twilight  by  the 
Gothic  arch  above  the  hearth  he  told  his  love  in  a  gloom  so 
deep  that  he  could  not  read  his  answer  in  her  eyes. 

He  caught  at  all  delights,  at  all  sorrows ;  grasped  at  exist- 
ence in  every  form ;  and  endowed  the  phantoms  conjured  up 
from  that  inert  and  plastic  material  so  liberally  with  his  own 
life  and  feelings,  that  the  sound  of  his  own  footsteps  reached 
him  as  if  from  another  world,  or  as  the  hum  of  Paris  reaches 
the  towers  of  Notre  Dame. 

He  ascended  the  inner  staircase  which  led  to  the  first  floor, 
with  its  votive  shields,  panoplies,  carved  shrines,  and  figures 
on  the  wall  at  every  step.  Haunted  by  the  strangest  shapes, 
by  marvelous  creations  belonging  to  the  borderland  betwixt 
life  and  death,  he  walked  as  if  under  the  spell  of  a  dream. 
His  own  existence  became  a  matter  of  doubt  to  him ;  he 
was  neither  wholly  alive  nor  dead,  like  the  curious  objects 
about  him.  The  light  began  to  fade  as  he  reached  the  show- 
rooms, but  the  treasures  of  gold  and  silver  heaped  up  there 
scarcely  seemed  to  need  illumination  from  without.  The 


20  THE    WILD  ASS*    SKIN. 

most  extravagant  whims  of  prodigals,  who  have  run  through 
millions  to  perish  in  garrets,  had  left  their  traces  here  in  this 
vast  bazaar  of  human  follies.  Here,  beside  a  writing  desk, 
made  at  the  cost  of  100,000  francs,  and  sold  for  a  hundred 
pence,  lay  a  lock  with  a  secret  worth  a  king's  ransom.  The 
human  race  was  revealed  in  all  the  grandeur  of  its  wretched- 
ness;  in  all  the  splendor  of  its  infinite  littleness.  An  ebony 
table  that  an  artist  might  worship,  carved  after  Jean  Goujon 
designs,  in  years  of  toil,  had  been  purchased  perhaps  at  the 
price  of  firewood.  Precious  caskets,  and  things  that  fairy 
hands  might  have  fashioned,  lay  there  in  heaps  like  rubbish. 

"You  must  have  the  worth  of  millions  here!  "  cried  the 
young  man  as  he  entered  the  last  of  an  immense  suite  of 
rooms,  all  decorated  and  gilded  by  eighteenth  century  artists. 

"Thousands  of  millions,  you  might  say,"  said  the  florid 
shopman;  "but  you  have  seen  nothing  as  yet.  Go  up  to  the 
third  floor,  and  you  shall  see  !  " 

The  young  man  followed  his  guide  to  a  fourth  gallery, 
where  one  by  one  there  passed  before  his  wearied  eyes  several 
pictures  by  Poussin,  a  magnificent  statue  by  Michael  Angelo, 
enchanting  landscapes  by  Claude  Lorraine,  a  Gerard  Dow 
(like  a  stray  page  from  Sterne),  Rembrandts,  Murillos,  and 
pictures  by  Velasquez,  as  dark  and  full  of  color  as  a  poem  of 
Byron's;  then  came  classic  bas-reliefs,  finely-cut  agates, 
wonderful  cameos!  Works  of  art  upon  works  of  art,  till  the 
craftsman's  skill  palled  on  the  mind,  masterpiece  after  master- 
piece till  art  itself  became  hateful  at  last  and  enthusiasm  died. 
He  came  upon  a  Madonna  by  Raphael,  but  he  was  tired  of 
Raphael;  a  figure  by  Correggio  never  received  the  glance  it 
demanded  of  him.  A  priceless  vase  of  antique  porphyry 
carved  round  about  with  pictures  of  the  most  grotesquely 
wanton  of  Roman  divinities,  the  pride  of  some  Corinna, 
scarcely  drew  a  smile  from  him. 

.The  ruins  of  fifteen  hundred  vanished  years  oppressed  him; 
he  sickened  under  all  this  human  thought;  felt  bored  by  all 


THE    TALISMAN.  21 

this  luxury  and  art.  He  struggled  in  vain  against  the  con- 
stantly renewed  fantastic  shapes  that  sprang  up  from  under 
his  feet,  like  children  of  some  sportive  demon. 

Are  not  fearful  poisons  set  up  in  the  soul  by  a  swift  concen- 
tration of  all  her  energies,  her  enjoyments,  or  ideas ;  as 
modern  chemistry,  in  its  caprice,  repeats  the  action  of  crea- 
tion by  some  gas  or  other?  Do  not  many  men  perish  under 
the  shock  of  the  sudden  expansion  of  some  moral  acid  within 
them? 

"What  is  there  in  that  box?"  he  inquired,  as  he  reached 
a  large  closet — final  triumph  of  human  skill,  originality, 
wealth,  and  splendor,  in  which  there  hung  a  large,  square 
mahogany  coffer,  suspended  from  a  nail  by  a  silver  chain. 

"Ah,  monsieur  keeps  the  key  of  it,"  said  the  stout  assistant 
mysteriously.  "If  you  wish  to  see  the  portrait,  I  will  gladly 
venture  to  tell  him." 

"  Venture  !  "  said  the  young  man ;  "then  is  your  master  a 
prince?" 

"I  don't  know  what  he  is,"  the  other  answered.  Equally 
astonished,  each  looked  for  a  moment  at  the  other.  Then 
construing  the  young  man's  silence  as  an  order,  the  appren- 
tice left  him  alone  in  the  closet. 

Have  you  never  launched  into  the  immensity  of  time  and 
space  as  you  read  the  geological  writings  of  Cuvier?  Carried 
by  his  fancy,  have  you  hung  as  if  suspended  by  a  magician's 
wand  over  the  illimitable  abyss  of  the  past  ?  When  the  fossil 
bones  of  animals  belonging  to  civilizations  before  the  Flood 
are  turned  up  in  bed  after  bed  and  layer  upon  layer  of  the 
quarries  of  Montmartre  or  among  the  schists  of  the  Ural 
range,  the  soul  receives  with  dismay  a  glimpse  of  millions 
of  peoples  forgotten  by  feeble  human  memory  and  unrec- 
ognized by  permanent  divine  tradition,  peoples  whose  ashes 
cover  our  globe  with  two  feet  of  earth  that  yields  bread  to 
us  and  flowers. 

Is  not  Cuvier  the  great  poet  of  our  era  ?     Byron  has  given 


22  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

admirable  expression  to  certain  moral  conflicts,  but  our  im- 
mortal naturalist  has  reconstructed  past  worlds  from  a  few 
bleached  bones;  has  rebuilt  cities,  like  Cadmus,  with  mon- 
sters' teeth;  has  animated  forests  with  all  the  secrets  of 
zoology  gleaned  from  a  piece  of  coal ;  has  discovered  a  giant 
population  from  the  footprints  of  a  mammoth.  These  forms 
stand  erect,  grow  large,  and  fill  regions  commensurate  with 
their  giant  size.  He  treats  figures  like  a  poet;  a  nought  set 
beside  a  seven  by  him  produces  awe. 

He  can  call  up  nothingness  before  you  without  the  phrases 
of  a  charlatan.  He  searches  a  lump  of  gypsum,  finds  an  im- 
pression in  it,  says  to  you,  "Behold!"  All  at  once  marble 
takes  an  animal  shape,  the  dead  come  to  life,  the  history  of 
the  world  is  laid  open  before  you.  After  countless  dynasties 
of  giant  creatures,  races  of  fish  and  clans  of  molluscs,  the  race 
of  man  appears  at  last  as  the  degenerate  copy  of  a  splendid 
model,  which  the  Creator  has  perchance  destroyed.  Em- 
boldened by  his  gaze  into  the  past,  this  petty  race,  children 
of  yesterday,  can  overstep  chaos,  can  raise  a  psalm  without 
end,  and  outline  for  themselves  the  story  of  the  Universe  in 
an  Apocalypse  that  reveals  the  past.  After  the  tremendous 
resurrection  that  took  place  at  the  voice  of  this  man,  the 
little  drop  in  the  nameless  Infinite,  common  to  all  the  spheres, 
that  is  ours  to  use,  and  that  we  call  Time,  seems  to  us  a 
pitiable  moment  of  life.  We  ask  ourselves  the  purpose  of 
our  triumphs,  our  hatreds,  our  loves,  overwhelmed  as  we  are 
by  the  destruction  of  so  many  past  universes,  and  whether 
it  is  worth  while  to  accept  the  pain  of  life  in  order  that  here- 
after we  may  become  an  intangible  speck.  Then  we  remain 
as  if  dead,  completely  torn  away  from  the  present  till  the 
valet  de  chambre  comes  in  and  says,  "  Madame  la  comtesse 
answers  that  she  is  expecting  monsieur." 

All  the  wonders  which  had  brought  the  known  world 
before  the  young  man's  mind  wrought  in  his  soul  much  the 
same  feeling  of  dejection  that  besets  the  philosopher  investi- 


THE    TALISMAN.  23 

gating  unknown  creations.  He  longed  more  than  ever  for 
death  as  he  flung  himself  back  in  a  curule  chair  and  let  his 
eyes  wander  across  the  illusions  composing  a  panorama  of 
the  past.  The  pictures  seemed  to  light  up,  the  Virgin's 
heads  smiled  on  him,  the  statues  seemed  alive.  Everything 
danced  and  swayed  around  him,  with  a  motion  due  to  the 
gloom  and  the  tormenting  fever  that  racked  his  brain ;  each 
monstrosity  grimaced  at  him,  while  the  portraits  on  the 
canvas  closed  their  eyes  for  a  little  relief.  Every  shape 
seemed  to  tremble  and  start,  and  to  leave  its  place  gravely 
or  flippantly,  gracefully  or  awkwardly,  according  to  its  fashion, 
character,  and  surroundings. 

A  mysterious  Sabbath  began,  rivalling  the  fantastic  scenes 
witnessed  by  Faust  upon  the  Brocken.  But  these  optical 
illusions,  produced  by  weariness,  over-strained  eyesight,  or  the 
accidents  of  twilight,  could  not  alarm  the  young  man.  The 
terrors  of  life  had  no  power  over  a  soul  grown  familiar  with 
the  terrors  of  death.  He  even  gave  himself  up,  half -amused 
by  its  bizarre  eccentricities,  to  the  influence  of  this  moral 
galvanism  ;  its  phenomena,  closely  connected  with  his  last 
thoughts,  assured  him  that  he  was  still  alive.  The  silence 
about  him  was  so  deep  that  he  embarked  once  more  in  dreams 
that  grew  gradually  darker  and  darker  as  if  by  magic,  as  the 
light  slowly  faded.  A  last  struggling  ray  from  the  sun  lit  up 
rosy  answering  lights.  He  raised  his  head  and  saw  a  skeleton 
dimly  visible,  with  its  skull  bent  doubtfully  to  one  side,  as 
if  to  say,  "  The  dead  will  none  of  thee  as  yet." 

He  passed  his  hand  over  his  forehead  to  shake  off  the  drow- 
siness, and  felt  a  cold  breath  of  air  as  an  unknown  furry  some- 
thing swept  past  his  cheeks.  He  shivered.  A  muffled  clatter 
of  the  windows  followed ;  it  was  a  bat,  he  fancied,  that  had 
given  him  this  chilly  sepulchral  caress.  He  could  yet  dimly 
see  for  a  moment  the  shapes  that  surrounded  him,  by  the 
vague  light  in  the  west ;  then  all  these  inanimate  objects 
were  blotted  out  in  uniform  darkness.  Night  and  the  hour 


34  THE    WILD  ASS'    SA'IW. 

of  death  had  suddenly  come.  Thenceforward,  for  a  while, 
he  lost  consciousness  of  the  things  about  him ;  he  was  either 
buried  in  deep  meditation,  or  sleep  overcame  him,  brought 
on  by  weariness  or  by  the  stress  of  those  many  thoughts  that 
lacerated  his  heart. 

Suddenly  he  thought  that  an  awful  voice  called  him  by 
name  ;  it  was  like  some  feverish  nightmare,  when  at  a  step 
the  dreamer  falls  headlong  over  into  an  abyss,  and  he  trembled. 
He  closed  his  eyes,  dazzled  by  bright  rays  from  a  red  circle 
of  light  that  shone  out  from  the  shadows.  In  the  midst  of 
the  circle  stood  a  little  old  man  who  turned  the  light  of  a 
lamp  upon  him,  yet  he  had  not  heard  him  enter,  nor  move, 
nor  speak.  There  was  something  magical  about  the  appari- 
tion. The  boldest  man,  awakened  in  such  a  way,  would  have 
felt  alarm  at  the  sight  of  this  figure,  which  might  have  issued 
from  some  sarcophagus  hard  by. 

A  curiously  youthful  look  in  the  unmoving  eyes  of  the 
spectre  forbade  the  idea  of  anything  supernatural ;  but  for  all 
that,  in  the  brief  space  between  his  dreaming  and  waking  life, 
the  young  man's  judgment  remained  philosophically  sus- 
pended, as  Descartes  claims.  He  was,  in  spite  of  himself, 
under  the  influence  of  an  unaccountable  hallucination,  a 
mystery  that  our  pride  rejects,  and  that  our  imperfect  science 
vainly  tries  to  solve. 

Imagine  a  short  old  man,  thin  and  spare,  in  a  long  black 
velvet  gown  girded  round  him  by  a  thick  silk  cord.  His  long 
white  hair  escaped  on  either  side  of  his  face  from  under  a 
black  velvet  cap  which  closely  fitted  his  head  and  made  a 
formal  setting  for  his  countenance.  His  gown  enveloped  his 
body  like  a  winding-sheet,  so  that  all  that  was  left  visible  was 
a  narrow  bleached  human  face.  But  for  the  wasted  arm,  thin 
as  a  draper's  wand,  which  held  aloft  the  lamp  that  cast  all  its 
light  upon  him,  the  face  would  have  seemed  to  hang  in  mid- 
air. A  gray  pointed  beard  concealed  the  chin  of  this  fantas- 
tical appearance,  and  gave  him  the  look  of  one  of  those 


A      LITTLE     OLD     MAN      TURNED     THE     LIGHT     OF     A     LAMP 
UPON      HIM. 


THE    TALISMAN.  25 

Jewish  types  which  serve  artists  as  models  for  Moses.  His 
lips  were  so  thin  and  colorless  that  it  needed  a  close  inspec- 
tion to  find  the  lines  of  his  mouth  at  all  in  the  pallid  face. 
His  great  wrinkled  brow  and  hollow  bloodless  cheeks,  the 
inexorably  stern  expression  of  his  small  green  eyes  that  no 
longer  possessed  eyebrows  or  lashes,  might  have  convinced 
the  young  man  that  Gerard  Dow's  "Money  Changer"  had 
come  down  from  his  frame.  The  craftiness  of  an  inquisitor, 
revealed  in  those  curving  wrinkles  and  creases  that  wound 
about  his  temples,  indicated  a  profound  knowledge  of  life. 
There  was  no  deceiving  this  man,  who  seemed  to  possess  a 
power  of  detecting  the  secrets  of  the  most  wary  heart. 

The  wisdom  and  the  moral  codes  of  every  people  seemed 
gathered  up  in  his  passive  face,  just  as  all  the  productions  of 
the  globe  had  been  heaped  up  in  his  dusty  show-rooms.  He 
seemed  to  possess  the  tranquil  luminous  vision  of  some  god 
before  whom  all  things  are  open,  or  the  haughty  power  of  a 
man  who  knows  all  things. 

With  two  strokes  of  the  brush  a  painter  could  have  so 
altered  the  expression  of  this  face,  that  what  had  been  a 
serene  representation  of  the  Eternal  Father  should  change 
to  the  sneering  mask  of  a  Mephistopheles ;  for  though 
sovereign  power  was  revealed  by  the  forehead,  mocking 
folds  lurked  about  the  mouth.  He  must  have  sacrificed 
all  the  joys  of  earth,  as  he  had  crushed  all  human  sorrows 
beneath  his  potent  will.  The  man  at  the  brink  of  death  shiv- 
ered at  the  thought  of  the  life  led  by  this  spirit,  so  solitary 
and  remote  from  our  world ;  joyless,  since  he  had  no  one 
illusion  left;  painless,  because  pleasure  had  ceased  to  exist 
for  him.  There  he  stood,  motionless  and  serene  as  a  star  in 
a  bright  mist.  His  lamp  lit  up  the  obscure  closet,  just  as  his 
green  eyes,  with  their  quiet  malevolence,  seemed  to  shed  a 
light  on  the  moral  world. 

This  was  the  strange  spectacle  that  startled  the  young  man's 
returning  sight,  as  he  shook  off  the  dreamy  fancies  and 


26  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

thoughts  of  death  that  had  lulled  him.  An  instant  of  dismay, 
a  momentary  return  to  belief  in  nursery  tales,  may  be  for- 
given him,  seeing  that  his  senses  were  obscured.  Much 
thought  had  wearied  his  mind,  and  his  nerves  were  exhausted 
with  the  strain  of  the  tremendous  drama  within  him,  and  by 
the  scenes  that  had  heaped  on  him  all  the  horrid  pleasures 
that  a  piece  of  opium  can  produce. 

But  this  apparition  .had  appeared  in  Paris,  on  the  Quai 
Voltaire,  and  in  the  nineteenth  century ;  the  time  and  place 
made  sorcery  impossible.  The  idol  of  French  scepticism  had 
died  in  the  house  just  opposite,  the  disciple  of  Gay-Lussac 
and  Arago,  who  had  held  the  charlatanism  of  intellect  in  con- 
tempt. And  yet  the  young  man  submitted  himself  to  the 
influence  of  an  imaginative  spell,  as  all  of  us  do  at  times,  when 
we  wish  to  escape  from  an  inevitable  certainty,  or  to  tempt 
the  power  of  Providence.  So  some  mysterious  apprehension 
of  a  strange  force  made  him  tremble  before  the  old  man  with 
the  lamp.  All  of  us  have  been  stirred  in  the  same  way  by 
the  sight  of  Napoleon,  or  of  some  other  great  man,  made 
illustrious  by  his  genius  or  by  fame. 

"You  wish  to  see  Raphael's  portrait  of  Jesus  Christ,  mon- 
sieur?" the  old  man  asked  politely.  There  was  something 
metallic  in  the  clear,  sharp  ring  of  his  voice. 

He  set  the  lamp  upon  a  broken  column,  so  that  all  its  light 
might  fall  on  the  brown  case. 

At  the  sacred  names  of  Christ  and  Raphael  the  young  man 
showed  some  curiosity.  The  merchant,  who  no  doubt  looked 
for  this,  pressed  a  spring,  and  suddenly  the  mahogany  panel 
slid  noiselessly  back  in  its  groove,  and  discovered  the  canvas 
to  the  young  man's  admiring  gaze.  At  sight  of  this  death- 
less creation,  he  forgot  his  fancies  in  the  show-rooms  and  the 
freaks  of  his  dreams,  and  became  himself  again,  The  old 
man  became  a  being  of  flesh  and  blood,  very  much  alive,  with 
nothing  chimerical  about  him,  and  took  up  his  existence  at 
once  upon  solid  earth. 


THE    TALISMAN.  27 

The  sympathy  and  love,  and  the  gentle  serenity  in  the 
divine  face,  exerted  an  instant  sway  over  the  younger  spec- 
tator. Some  influence  failing  from  heaven  bade  cease  the 
burning  torment  that  consumed  the  marrow  of  his  bones. 
The  head  of  the  Saviour  of  mankind  seemed  to  issue  from 
among  the  shadows  represented  by  a  dark  background ;  an 
aureole  of  light  shone  out  brightly  from  his  hair;  an  impas- 
sioned belief  seemed  to  glow  through  him,  and  to  thrill  every 
feature.  The  word  of  life  had  just  been  uttered  by  those  red 
lips,  the  sacred  sounds  seemed  to  linger  still  in  the  air;  the 
spectator  besought  the  silence  for  those  captivating  parables, 
hearkened  for  them  in  the  future,  and  had  to  turn  to  the 
teachings  of  the  past.  The  untroubled  peace  of  the  divine 
eyes,  the  comfort  of  sorrowing  souls,  seemed  an  interpreta- 
tion of  the  Evangel.  The  sweet  triumphant  smile  revealed 
the  secret  of  the  Catholic  religion,  which  sums  up  all  things 
in  the  precept,  "Love  one  another."  This  picture  breathed 
the  spirit  of  prayer,  enjoined  forgiveness,  overcame  self, 
caused  sleeping  powers  of  good  to  waken.  For  this  work 
of  Raphael's  had  the  imperious  charm  of  music;  you  were 
brought  under  the  spell  of  memories  of  the  past ;  his  triumph 
was  so  absolute  that  the  artist  was  forgotten.  The  witchery 
of  the  lamplight  heightened  the  wonder ;  the  head  seemed 
at  times  to  flicker  in  the  distance,  enveloped  in  cloud. 

"I  covered  the  surface  of  that  picture  with  gold-pieces," 
said  the  merchant  carelessly. 

"And  now  for  death  !"  cried  the  young  man,  awakened  from 
his  musings.  His  last  thought  had  recalled  his  fate  to  him, 
as  it  led  him  imperceptibly  back  from  the  forlorn  hopes  to 
which  he  clung. 

"Ah,  ha!  then  my  suspicions  were  well  founded  !"  said  the 
other,  and  his  hands  held  the  young  man's  wrists  in  a  grip 
like  that  of  a  vise. 

The  young  man  smiled  wearily  at  his  mistake,  and  said 
gently — 


28  7 HE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

"You,  sir,  have  nothing  to  fear;  it  is  not  your  life,  but 

my  own  that  is  in  question  But  why  should  I  hide  a 

harmless  fraud?"  he  went  on,  after  a  look  at  the  anxious  old 
man.  "I  came  to  see  your  treasure  to  while  away  the  time 
till  night  should  come  and  I  could  drown  myself  decently. 
Who  would  grudge  this  last  pleasure  to  a  poet  and  a  man  of 
science?" 

While  he  spoke,  the  jealous  merchant  watched  the  haggard 
face  of  his  pretended  customer  with  keen  eyes.  Perhaps  the 
mournful  tones  of  his  voice  reassured  him,  or  he  also  read  the 
dark  signs  of  fate  in  the  faded  features  that  had  made  the 
gamblers  shudder;  he  released  his  hands,  but  with  a  touch  of 
caution,  due  to  the  experience  of  some  hundred  years  at  least, 
he  stretched  his  arm  out  to  a  sideboard  as  if  to  steady  himself, 
took  up  a  little  dagger  and  said — 

"  Have  you  been  a  supernumerary  clerk  of  the  Treasury  for 
three  years  without  receiving  any  perquisites?" 

The  young  man  could  scarcely  suppress  a  smile  as  he  shook 
his  head. 

"  Perhaps  your  father  has  expressed  his  regret  for  your  birth 
a  little  too  sharply?  Or  have  you  disgraced  yourself?" 

"If  I  meant  to  be  disgraced,  I  should  live." 

"You  have  been  hissed  perhaps  at  the  Funambules?  Or 
you  have  had  to  compose  couplets  to  pay  for  your  mistress' 
funeral?  Do  you  want  to  be  cured  of  the  gold  fever?  Or 
to  be  quit  of  the  spleen  ?  For  what  blunder  is  your  life  a 
forfeit?" 

"You  must  not  look  among  the  common  motives  that 
impel  suicides  for  the  reason  of  my  death.  To  spare  myself 
the  task  of  disclosing  my  unheard-of  sufferings,  for  which 
language  has  no  name,  I  will  tell  you  this — that  I  am  in  the 
deepest,  most  humiliating,  and  most  cruel  trouble,  and,"  he 
went  on  in  proud  tones  that  harmonized  ill  with  the  words 
just  uttered,  "  I  have  no  wish  to  beg  for  either  help  or  sym- 
pathy." 


THE    TALISMAN.  29 

"Eh!  eh!" 

The  two  syllables  which  the  old  man  pronounced  resembled 
the  sound  of  a  rattle.  Then  he  went  on  thus : 

"  Without  compelling  you  to  entreat  me,  without  making 
you  blush  for  it,  and  without  giving  you  so  much  as  a  French 
centime,  a  para  from  the  Levant,  a  German  heller,  a  Russian 
kopeck,  a  Scottish  farthing,  a  single  obolus  or  sestercius  from 
the  ancient  world,  or  one  piastre  from  the  new,  without  offer- 
ing you  anything  whatever  in  gold,  silver,  or  copper,  notes  or 
drafts,  I  will  make  you  richer,  more  powerful,  and  of  more 
consequence  than  a  constitutional  king." 

The  young  man  thought  that  the  old  man  must  be  in  his 
dotage,  and  waited  in  bewilderment  without  venturing  to  reply. 

"Turn  round,"  said  the  merchant,  suddenly  catching  up 
the  lamp  in  order  to  light  up  the  opposite  wall ;  "  look  at  that 
leathern  skin,"  he  went  on. 

The  young  man  rose  abruptly,  and  showed  some  surprise  at 
the  sight  of  a  piece  of  shagreen  which  hung  on  the  wall  behind 
his  chair.  It  was  only  about  the  size  of  a  fox's  skin,  but 
it  seemed  to  fill  the  deep  shadows  of  the  place  with  such 
brilliant  rays  that  it  looked  like  a  small  comet,  an  appearance 
at  first  sight  inexplicable.  The  young  sceptic  went  up  to  this 
so-called  talisman,  which  was  to  rescue  him  from  his  woes, 
with  a  scoffing  phrase  in  his  thoughts.  Still  a  harmless  curi- 
osity led  him  to  bend  over  it  and  look  at  it  from  all  points  of 
view,  and  he  soon  found  out  the  cause  of  its  singular  brilliancy. 
The  dark  grain  of  the  leather  had  been  so  carefully  burnished 
and  polished,  the  striped  markings  of  the  graining  were  so 
sharp  and  clear,  that  every  particle  of  the  surface  of  the  bit 
of  Oriental  leather  was  in  itself  a  focus  which  concentrated 
the  light,  and  reflected  it  vividly. 

He  accounted  for  this  phenomenon  categorically  to  the  old 
man,  who  only  smiled  meaningly  by  way  of  answer.  His 
superior  smile  led  the  young  scientific  man  to  fancy  that  he 
himself  had  been  deceived  by  some  imposture.  He  had  no 


30  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

wish  to  carry  one  more  puzzle  to  his  grave,  and  hastily  turned 
the  skin  over,  like  some  child  eager  to  find  out  the  mysteries 
of  a  new  toy. 

"All,"  he  cried,  "here  is  the  mark  of  a  seal  which  they 
call  in  the  East  the  Signet  of  Solomon." 

"So  you  know  that  then,"  asked  the  merchant.  His  pecu- 
liar method  of  laughter,  two  or  three  quick  breathings 
through  the  nostrils,  said  more  than  any  words  however  elo- 
quent. 

"  Is  there  anybody  in  the  world  simple  enough  to  believe 
in  that  idle  fancy?"  said  the  young  man,  nettled  by  the  spite- 
fulness  of  the  silent  chuckle.  "  Don't  you  know,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  that  the  superstitions  of  the  East  have  perpetuated 
the  mystical  form  and  the  counterfeit  characters  of  the  symbol, 
which  represents  a  mythical  dominion  ?  I  have  no  more  laid 
myself  open  to  a  charge  of  credulity  in  this  case,  than  if  I 
had  mentioned  sphinxes  or  griffins,  whose  existence  mythology 
in  a  manner  admits." 

"As  you  are  an  Orientalist,"  replied  the  other,  "perhaps 
you  can  read  that  sentence." 

He  held  the  lamp  close  to  the  talisman,  which  the  young 
man  held  towards  him,  and  pointed  out  some  characters 
inlaid  in  the  surface  of  the  wonderful  skin,  as  if  they  had 
grown  on  the  animal  to  which  it  once  belonged. 

"I  must  admit,"  said  the  young  man,  "that  I  have  no 
idea  how  the  letters  could  be  engraved  so  deeply  on  the  skin 
of  a  wild  ass."  And  he  turned  quickly  to  the  tables  strewn 
with  curiosities,  and  seemed  to  look  for  something. 

"What  is  it  that  you  want?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"  Something  that  will  cut  the  leather,  so  that  I  can  see 
whether  the  letters  are  printed  or  inlaid." 

The  old  man  held  out  his  stiletto.  The  young  man  took 
it  and  tried  to  cut  the  skin  above  the  lettering ;  but  when 
he  had  removed  a  thin  shaving  of  leather  from  them,  the 
characters  still  appeared  below,  so  clear  and  so  exactly  like 


THE    TALISMAN.  31 

the  surface  impression,  that  for  a  moment  he  was  not  sure 
that  he  had  cut  anything  away  after  all. 

"  The  craftsmen  of  the  Levant  have  secrets  known  only  to 
themselves,"  he  said,  half  in  vexation,  as  he  eyed  the  char- 
acters of  this  Oriental  sentence. 

"Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  "it  is  better  to  attribute  it  to 
man's  agency  than  to  God's." 

The  mysterious  words  were  thus  arranged : — 


Or,  as  it  runs  in  English  : — 


POSSESSING     ME     THOU      SHALT     POSSESS     ALL     THINGS, 

BUT  THY  LIFE  IS  MINE,  FOR  GOD  HAS  SO  WILLED  IT. 

WISH,  AND    THY    WISHES    SHALL    BE    FULFILLED  ; 

BUT    MEASURE    THY    DESIRES,  ACCORDING 

TO    THE    LIFE    THAT    IS    IN    THEE. 

THIS    IS    THY   LIFE, 
WITH    EACH    WISH    I    MUST   SHRINK 

EVEN   AS   THY   OWN    DAYS. 

WILT     THOU    HAVE    ME?       TAKE     ME. 

GOD  WILL  HEARKEN  UNTO  THEE. 

SO    BE   IT! 


32  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

"  So  you  read  Sanskrit  fluently,"  said  the  old  man.  "  You 
have  been  in  Persia  perhaps,  or  in  Bengal?" 

"No,  sir,"  said  the  stranger,  as  he  felt  the  emblematical 
skin  curiously.  It  was  almost  as  rigid  as  a  sheet  of  metal. 

The  old  merchant  set  the  lamp  back  again  upon  the  column, 
giving  the  other  a  lock  as  he  did  so.  "  He  has  given  up  the 
notion  of  dying  already,"  the  glance  said  with  phlegmatic 
irony. 

"Is  it  a  jest,  or  is  it  an  enigma?"  asked  the  young  man. 

The  other  shook  his  head  and  said  soberly — 

"I  don't  know  how  to  answer  you.  I  have  offered  this 
talisman  with  its  terrible  powers  to  men  with  more  energy  in 
them  than  you  seem  to  me  to  have;  but  though  they  laughed 
at  the  questionable  power  it  might  exert  over  their  futures, 
not  one  of  them  was  ready  to  venture  to  conclude  the  fateful 
contract '  proposed  by  an  unknown  force.  I  am  of  their 
opinion,  I  have  doubted  and  refrained,  and — 

"Have  you  never  even  tried  its  power?"  interrupted  the 
young  stranger. 

"Tried  it !  "  exclaimed  the  old  man.  "  Suppose  that  you 
were  on  the  column  in  the  Place  Vendome,  would  you  try 
flinging  yourself  into  space  ?  Is  it  possible  to  stay  the  course 
of  life?  Has  a  man  ever  been  known  to  die  by  halves? 
Before  you  came  here,  you  had  made  up  your  mind  to  kill 
yourself,  but  all  at  once  a  mystery  fills  your  mind,  and  you  think 
no  more  about  death.  You  child !  Does  not  any  one  day 
of  your  life  afford  mysteries  more  absorbing  ?  Listen  to  me. 
I  saw  the  licentious  days  of  the  Regency.  I  was  like  you, 
then,  in  poverty  ;  I  have  begged  my  bread;  but  for  all  that,  I 
am  now  a  centenarian  with  a  couple  of  years  to  spare,  and  a 
millionaire  to  boot.  Misery  was  the  making  of  me,  ignorance 
has  made  me  learned.  I  will  tell  you  in  a  few  words  the 
great  secret  of  human  life.  By  two  instinctive  processes  man 
exhausts  the  springs  of  life  within  him.  Two  verbs  cover  all 
the  forms  which  these  two  causes  of  death  may  take  — '  To 


THE    TALISMAN.  33 

will  and  to  have  your  will.'  Between  these  two  limits  of 
human  activity  the  wise  have  discovered  an  intermediate 
formula,  to  which  I  owe  my  good  fortune  and  long  life.  '  To 
will '  consumes  us,  and  '  To  have  our  will '  destroys  us,  but '  To 
know'  steeps  our  feeble  organisms  in  perpetual  calm.  In  me 
Thought  has  destroyed  Will,  so  that  Power  is  relegated  to  the 
ordinary  functions  of  my  economy.  In  a  word,  it  is  not  in 
the  heart  which  can  be  broken,  nor  in  the  senses  that  become 
deadened,  but  it  is  in  the  brain  that  cannot  waste  away  and 
survives  everything  else,  that  I  have  set  my  life.  Moderation 
has  kept  mind  and  body  unruffled.  Yet  I  have  seen  the 
whole  world.  I  have  learned  all  languages,  lived  after  every 
manner.  I  have  loaned  a  Chinaman  money,  taking  his  father's 
corpse  as  a  pledge,  slept  in  an  Arab's  tent  on  the  security  of 
his  bare  word,  signed  contracts  in  every  capital  of  Europe, 
and  left  my  gold  without  hesitation  in  savage  wigwams.  I 
have  attained  everything,  because  I  have  known  how  to 
despise  all  things. 

"  My  one  ambition  has  been  to  see.  Is  not  sight  in  a 
manner  insight?  And  to  have  knowledge  or  insight,  is  not 
that  to  have  instinctive  possession?  To  be  able  to  discover 
the  very  substance  of  fact  and  to  unite  its  essence  to  our 
essence  ?  Of  material  possession  what  abides  with  you  but  an 
idea?  Think,  then,  how  glorious  must  be  the  life  of  a  man 
who  can  stamp  all  realities  upon  his  thought,  place  the  springs 
of  happiness  within  himself,  and  draw  thence  uncounted 
pleasures  in  idea,  unsoiled  by  earthly  stains.  Thought  is  a 
key  to  all  treasures;  the  miser's  gains  are  ours  without  his 
cares.  Thus  I  have  soared  above  this  world,  where  my  enjoy- 
ments have  been  intellectual  joys.  I  have  reveled  in  the 
contemplation  of  seas,  peoples,  forests,  and  mountains  !  I 
have  seen  all  things,  calmly,  and  without  weariness  ;  I  have 
set  my  desires  on  nothing ;  I  have  waited  in  expectation  of 
everything.  I  have  walked  to  and  fro  in  the  world  as  in  a 
garden  round  about  my  own  dwelling.  Troubles,  loves, 


34  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

ambitions,  losses,  and  sorrows,  as  men  call  them,  are  for  me 
ideas,  which  I  transmute  into  waking  dreams ;  I  express  and 
transpose  instead  of  feeling  them  ;  instead  of  permitting  them 
to  prey  upon  my  life,  I  dramatize  and  expand  them  ;  I  divert 
myself  with  them  as  if  they  were  romances  which  I  could  read 
by  the  power  of  vision  within  me.  As  I  have  never  overtaxed 
my  constitution,  I  still  enjoy  robust  health  ;  and  as  my  mind 
is  endowed  with  all  the  force  that  I  have  not  wasted,  this 
head  of  mine  is  even  better  furnished  than  my  galleries.  The 
true  millions  lie  here,"  he  said,  striking  his  forehead.  "I 
spend  delicious  days  in  communings  with  the  past;  I  summon 
before  me  whole  countries,  places,  extents  of  sea,  the  fair 
faces  of  history.  In  my  imaginary  seraglio  I  have  all  the 
women  I  have  never  possessed.  Your  wars  and  revolutions 
come  up  before  me  for  judgment.  What  is  a  feverish  fugitive 
admiration  for  some  more  or  less  brightly  colored  piece  of 
flesh  and  blood ;  some  more  or  less  rounded  human  form ; 
what  are  all  the  disasters  that  wait  on  your  erratic  whims,  com- 
pared with  the  magnificent  power  of  conjuring  up  the  whole 
world  within  your  soul,  compared  with  the  immeasurable 
joys  of  movements,  unstrangled  by  the  cords  of  time,  un- 
clogged  by  the  fetters  of  space ;  the  joys  of  beholding  all 
things,  of  comprehending  all  things,  of  leaning  over  the 
parapet  of  the  world  to  question  the  other  spheres,  to  hearken 
to  the  voice  of  God?  There,"  he  burst  out,  vehemently, 
"there  are  To  Will  and  To  have  your  Will,  both  together,"  he 
pointed  to  the  bit  of  shagreen  ;  "  there  are  your  social  ideas, 
your  immoderate  desires,  your  excesses,  your  pleasures  that 
end  in  death,  your  sorrows  that  quicken  the  pace  of  life,  for 
pain  is  perhaps  but  a  violent  pleasure.  Who  could  determine 
the  point  where  pleasure  becomes  pain,  where  pain  is  still  a 
pleasure?  Is  not  the  utmost  brightness  of  the  ideal  world 
soothing  to  us,  while  the  lightest  shadows  of  the  physical 
world  annoy?  Is  not  knowledge  the  secret  of  wisdom?  And 
what  is  folly  but  a  riotous  expenditure  of  Will  or  Power  ?" 


THE    TALISMAN.  35 

"Very  good,  then,  a  life  of  riotous  excess  for  me!  "  said 
the  young  man,  pouncing  upon  the  piece  of  shagreen. 

"Young  man,  beware!"  cried  the  other  with  incredible 
vehemence. 

"  I  had  resolved  my  existence  into  thought  and  study,"  the 
young  man  replied;  "and  yet  they  have  not  even  supported 
me.  I  am  not  to  be  gulled  by  a  sermon  worthy  of  Sweden- 
borg,  nor  by  your  Oriental  amulet,  nor  yet  by  your  charitable 
endeavors  to  keep  me  in  a  world  wherein  existence  is  no 

longer  possible  for  me. Let  me  see,  now,"  he  added, 

clutching  the  talisman  convulsively,  as  he  looked  at  the  old 
man,  "I  wish  for  a  royal  banquet,  a  carouse  worthy'of  this 
century,  which,  it  is  said,  has  brought  everything  to  perfec- 
tion !  Let  me  have  young  boon  companions,  witty,  unwarped 
by  prejudice,  merry  to  the  verge  of  madness  !  Let  one  wine 
succeed  another,  each  more  biting  and  perfumed  than  the 
last,  and  strong  enough  to  bring  about  three  days  of  delirium  ! 
Passionate  women's  forms  should  grace  that  night !  I  would 
be  borne  away  to  unknown  regions  beyond  the  confines  of 
this  world  by  the  car  and  four-winged  steeds  of  a  frantic  and 
uproarious  orgie.  Let  us  ascend  to  the  skies,  or  plunge  our- 
selves in  the  mire.  I  do  not  know  if  one  soars  or  sinks  at 
such  moments,  and  I  do  not  care !  Next,  I  bid  this  enig- 
matical power  to  concentrate  all  delights  for  me  in  one  single 
joy.  Yes,  I  must  comprehend  every  pleasure  of  earth  and 
heaven  in  the  final  embrace  that  is  to  kill  me.  Therefore, 
after  the  wine,  I  wish  to  hold  high  festival  to  Priapus,  with 
songs  that  might  rouse  the  dead,  and  kisses  without  end  ;  the 
sound  of  them  should  pass  like  the  crackling  of  flame  through 
Paris,  should  revive  the  heat  of  youth  and  passion  in  husband 
and  wife,  even  in  hearts  of  seventy  years." 

A  laugh  burst  from  the  little  old  man.  It  rang  in  the 
young  man's  ears  like  an  echo  from  hell,  and  tyrannously  cut 
him  short.  He  said  no  more. 

"  Do  you  imagine  that  my  floors  are  going  to  open  sud- 


36  THE    WILD  ^ASS*   SKIN. 

denly,  so  that  luxuriously-appointed  tables  may  rise  through 
them,  and  guests  from  another  world  ?  No,  no,  young  mad- 
cap. You  have  entered  into  the  compact  now,  and  there  is 
an  end  of,  it.  Henceforward,  your  wishes  will  be  accurately 
fulfilled,  but  at  the  expense  of  your  life.  The  compass  of 
your  days,  visible  in  that  skin,  will  contract  according  to  the 
strength  and  number  of  your  desires,  from  the  least  to  the 
most  extravagant.  The  Brahmin  from  whom  I  had  this  skin 
once  explained  to  me  that  it  would  bring  about  a  mysterious 
connection  between  the  fortunes  and  the  wishes  of  its  pos- 
sessor. Your  first  wish  is  a  vulgar  one,  which  I  could  fulfil, 
but  I  leave  that  to  the  issues  of  your  new  existence.  After 
all,  you  were  wishing  to  die ;  very  well,  your  suicide  is  only 
put  off  for  a  time." 

The  young  man  was  surprised  and  irritated  because  the 
singular  old  man  persisted  in  not  taking  him  seriously.  A 
half  philanthropic  intention  peeped  so  clearly  forth  from  his 
last  jesting  observation,  that  he  exclaimed — 

"  I  shall  soon  see,  sir,  if  any  change  comes  over  my  fortunes 
in  the  time  it  will  take  to  cross  the  width  of  the  quay.  But 
I  should  like  us  to  be  quits  for  such  a  momentous  service  ;  that 
is,  if  you  are  not  laughing  at  an  unlucky  wretch,  so  I  wish 
that  you  may  fall  in  love  with  an  opera-dancer.  You  would 
understand  the  pleasures  of  intemperance  then,  and  might 
perhaps  grow  lavish  of  the  wealth  that  you  have  husbanded  so 
philosophically." 

He  went  out  without  heeding  the  old  man's  heavy  sigh, 
went  back  through  the  galleries  and  down  the  staircase,  fol- 
lowed by  the  stout  assistant  who  vainly  tried  to  light  his  pas- 
sage ;  he  fled  with  the  haste  of  a  robber  caught  in  the 
act.  Blinded  by  a  kind  of  delirium,  he  did  not  even  notice 
the  unexpected  flexibility  of  the  piece  of  shagreen,  which 
coiled  itself  up,  pliant  as  a  glove  in  his  excited  fingers,  till  it 
would  go  into  the  pocket  of  his  coat,  where  he  mechani- 
cally thrust  it.  As  he  rushed  out  of  the  door  into  the  street, 


THE    TALISMAN.  37 

he  ran  up  against  three  young  men  who  were  passing  arm  in 
arm. 

"Brute  !  " 

"Idiot!  " 

Such  were  the  gratifying  expressions  exchanged  between 
them. 

"Why,  it  is  Raphael  !  " 

"  Good  !  we  were  looking  for  you." 

"  What !   it  is  you,  then  ?  " 

These  three  friendly  exclamations  quickly  followed  the  in- 
sults, as  the  light  of  a  street  lamp,  flickering  in  the  wind,  fell 
upon  the  astonished  faces  of  the  group. 

"  My  dear  fellow,  you  must  come  with  us  !  "  said  the 
young  man  that  Raphael  had  all  but  knocked  down. 

"  What  is  all  this  about? " 

"  Come  along,  and  I  will  tell  you  the  history  of  it  as 
we  go." 

By  fair  means  or  foul,  Raphael  must  go  along  with  his 
friends  towards  the  Pont  des  Arts ;  they  surrounded  him,  and 
linked  him  by  the  arm  among  their  merry  band. 

"  We  have  been  after  you  for  about  a  week,"  the  speaker 
went  on.  "  At  your  respectable  hotel  de  Saint  Quentin, 
where,  by  the  way,  the  sign  with  the  alternate  black  and  red 
letters  cannot  be  removed,  and  hangs  out  just  as  it  did  in  the 
time  of  Jean  Jacques,  that  Leonarda  of  yours  told  us  that  you 
were  off  into  the  country.  For  all  that,  we  certainly  did  not 
look  like  duns,  creditors,  sheriffs  officers,  or  the  like.  But 
no  matter  !  Rastignac  had  seen  you  the  evening  before  at  the 
Bouffons;  we  took  courage  again,  and  made  it  a  point  of 
honor  to  find  out  whether  you  were  roosting  in  a  tree  in  the 
Champs  Elysees,  or  in  one  of  those  philanthropic  abodes 
where  the  beggars  sleep  on  a  twopenny  rope,  or  if,  more 
lucky,  you  were  bivouacking  in  some  boudoir  or  other.  We 
could  not  find  you  anywhere.  Your  name  was  not  in  the 
jailer's  registers  at  St.  Pelagic  nor  at  La  Force  !  Government 


38  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

departments,  cafes,  libraries,  lists  of  prefects'  names,  news- 
paper offices,  restaurants,  greenrooms — to  cut  it  short,  every 
lurking  place  in  Paris,  good  or  bad,  has  been  explored  in  the 
most  expert  manner.  We  bewailed  the  loss  of  a  man  endowed 
with  such  genius,  that  one  might  look  to  find  him  either  at 
Court  or  in  the  common  jails.  We  talked  of  canonizing  you 
as  a  hero  of  July,  and,  upon  my  word,  we  regretted  you  !  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  friends  were  crossing  the  Pont  des  Arts. 
Without  listening  to  them,  Raphael  looked  at  the  Seine,  at 
the  clamoring  waves  that  reflected  the  lights  of  Paris.  Above 
that  river,  in  which  but  now  he  had  thought  to  fling  himself, 
the  old  man's  prediction  had  been  fulfilled,  the  hour  of  his 
death  had  been  already  put  back  by  fate. 

"  We  really  regretted  you,"  said  his  friend,  still  pursuing 
his  theme.  "  It  was  a  question  of  a  plan  in  which  we  in- 
cluded you  as  a  superior  person,  that  is  to  say,  somebody  who 
can  put  himself  above  other  people.  The  constitutional 
thimble-rig  is  carried  on  to-day,  dear  boy,  more  seriously  than 
ever.  The  infamous  monarchy,  displaced  by  the  heroism  of 
the  people,  was  a  sort  of  drab,  you  could  laugh  and  revel  with 
her ;  but  La  Patrie  is  a  shrewish  and  virtuous  wife,  and  willy- 
nilly  you  must  take  her  prescribed  endearments.  Then  be- 
sides, as  you  know,  authority  passed  over  from  the  Tuileries 
to  the  journalists,  at  the  time  when  the  Budget  changed  its 
quarters  and  went  from  the  Faubourg  Saint  Germain  to  the 
Chaussee  d'Antin.  But  this  you  may  not  know,  perhaps. 
The  Government,  that  is,  the  aristocracy  of  lawyers  and  bank- 
ers who  represent  the  country  to-day,  just  as  the  priests  used 
to  do  in  the  time  of  the  monarchy,  has  felt  the  necessity  of 
mystifying  the  worthy  people  of  France  with  a  few  new  words 
and  old  ideas,  like  philosophers  of  every  school,  and  all  strong 
intellects  ever  since  time  began.  So  now  Royalist-national 
ideas  must  be  inculcated,  by  proving  to  us  that  it  is  far  better 
to  pay  twelve  hundred  million  francs  thirty-three  centimes  to 
La  Patrie,  represented  by  Messieurs  Such-and-Such,  than  to 


THE    TALISMAN".  3D 

pay  eleven  hundred  million  francs  nine  centimes  to  a  king 
who  used  to  say  /instead  of  we.  In  a  word,  a  journal,  with 
two  or  three  hundred  thousand  francs,  good,  at  the  back  of  it, 
has  just  been  started,  with  a  view  to  making  an  opposition 
paper  to  content  the  discontented,  without  prejudice  to  the 
national  government  of  the  citizen-king.  We  scoff  at  liberty 
.as  at  despotism  now,  and  at  religion  or  incredulity  quite  im- 
partially. And  since,  for  us,  'our  country'  means  a  capital 
where  ideas  circulate  and  are  sold  at  so  much  a  line,  a  succu- 
lent dinner  every  day,  and  the  play  at  frequent  intervals, 
where  profligate  women  swarm,  where  suppers  last  on  into  the 
next  day,  and  light  loves  are  hired  by  the  hour  like  cabs  ;  and 
since  Paris  will  always  be  the  most  adorable  of  all  countries, 
the  country  of  joy,  liberty,  wit,  pretty  women,  mauvais  sujets^ 
and  good  wine  ;  where  the  truncheon  of  authority  never  makes 
itself  disagreeably  felt,  because  one  is  so  close  to  those  who 
wield  it — we,  therefore,  sectaries  of  the  god  Mephisiopheles, 
have  engaged  to  whitewash  the  public  mind,  to  give  fresh 
costumes  to  the  actors,  to  put  a  new  plank  or  two  in  the  Gov- 
ernment booth,  to  doctor  doctrinaires,  and  warm  up  old  Re- 
publicans, to  touch  up  the  Bonapartists  a  bit,  and  revictual 
the  Centre ;  provided  that  we  are  allowed  to  laugh  in  secret 
at  both  kings  and  peoples,  to  think  one  thing  in  the  morning 
and  another  at  night,  and  to  lead  a  merry  life  a  la  Panurge, 
or  to  recline  upon  soft  cushions,  like  the  Orientals. 

"The  sceptre  of  this  burlesque  and  macaronic  kingdom," 
he  went  on,  "we  have  reserved  for  you;  so  we  are  taking 
you  straightway  to  a  dinner  given  by  the  founder  of  the  said 
newspaper,  a  retired  banker,  who,  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to 
do  with  his  money,  is  going  to  buy  some  brains  with  it.  You 
will  be  welcomed  as  a  brother,  we  shall  hail  you  as  king  of 
these  free  lances  who  will  undertake  anything ;  whose  per- 
spicacity discovers  the  intentions  of  Austria,  England,  or  Russia, 
before  either  Russia,  Austria,  or  England  have  formed  any. 
*  Good-for-nothings. 


40  THE    WILD  ASh 

Yes,  we  will  invest  you  with  the  sovereignty  of  those  puissant 
intellects  which  give  to  the  world  its  Mirabeaus,  Talleyrands, 
Pitts,  and  Metternichs — all  the  clever  Crispins  who  treat  the 
destinies  of  a  kingdom  as  gamblers'  stakes,  just  as  ordinary 
men  play  dominoes  for  kirschenwasser.  We  have  given  you 
out  to  be  the  most  undaunted  champion  who  ever  wrestled  in 
a  drinking-bout  at  close  quarters  with  the  monster  called 
Carousal,  who  all  bold  spirits  wish  to  try  a  fall  with  ;  we  have 
gone  so  far  as  to  say  that  you  have  never  yet  been  worsted. 
I  hope  you  will  not  make  liars  of  us.  Taillefer,  our  amphi- 
tryon,  has  undertaken  to  surpass  the  circumscribed  saturnalias 
of  the  petty  modern  Lucullus.  He  is  rich  enough  to  infuse 

pomp  into  trifles,  and  style  and  charm  into  dissipation. 

Are  you  listening,  Raphael?"  asked  the  orator,  interrupting 
himself. 

"Yes,"  answered  the  young  man,  less  surprised  by  the  ac- 
complishment of  his  wishes  than  by  the  natural  manner  in 
which  the  events  had  come  about. 

He  could  not  bring  himself  to  believe  in  magic,  but  he 
marveled  at  the  accidents  of  human  fate. 

"Yes,  you  say,  just  as  if  you  were  thinking  of  your  grand- 
father's demise,"  remarked  one  of  his  neighbors. 

"Ah  !"  cried  Raphael,  "  I  was  thinking,  my  friends,  that 
we  are  in  a  fair  way  to  become  very  great  scoundrels, ' '  and  there 
was  an  ingenuousness  in  his  tones  that  set  these  writers,  the 
hope  of  young  France,  in  a  roar.  "  So  far  our  blasphemies 
have  been  uttered  over  our  cups  ;  we  have  passed  our  judg- 
ments on  life  while  drunk,  and  taken  men  and  affairs  in  an 
after-dinner  frame  of  mind.  We  were  innocent  of  action  ; 
we  were  bold  in  words.  But  now  we  are  to  be  branded 
with  the  hot  iron  of  politics;  we  are  going  to  enter  the  con- 
vict's prison  and  to  drop  our  illusions.  Although  one  has  no 
belief  left,  except  in  the  devil,  one  may  regret  the  paradise 
of  one's  youth  and  the  age  of  innocence,  when  we  devoutly 
offered  the  tip  of  our  tongue  to  some  good  priest  for  the  con- 


THE    TALISMAN.  41 

secrated  wafer  of  the  sacrament.  Ah,  my  good  friends,  our 
first  peccadilloes  gave  us  so  much  pleasure  because  the  conse- 
quent remorse  set  them  off  and  lent  a  keen  relish  to  them ; 
but  nowadays " 

"  Oh  !  now,"  said  the  first  speaker,  "  there  is  still  left — 

"  What?"  asked  another. 

"  Crime " 

"  There  is  a  word  as  high  as  the  gallows  and  deeper  than 
the  Seine,"  said  Raphael. 

"Oh,  you  don't  understand  me;  I  mean  political  crime. 
Since  this  morning,  a  conspirator's  life  is  the  only  one  I  covet. 
I  don't  know  that  the  fancy  will  last  over  to-morrow,  but 
to-night  at  least  my  gorge  rises  at  the  anaemic  life  of  our  civil- 
ization and  its  railroad  evenness.  I  am  seized  with  a  passion 
for  the  miseries  of  the  retreat  from  Moscow,  for  the  excite- 
ments of  the  Red  Corsair,  or  for  a  smuggler's  life.  I  should 
like  to  go  to  Botany  Bay,  as  we  have  no  Chartreux  left  us 
here  in  France ;  it  is  a  sort  of  infirmary  reserved  for  little 
Lord  Byrons,  who,  having  crumpled  up  their  lives  like  a 
serviette  after  dinner,  have  nothing  left  to  do  but  to  set  their 
country  ablaze,  blow  their  own  brains  out,  plot  for  a  republic, 
or  clamor  for  a  war " 

"  Emile,"  Raphael's  neighbor  called  eagerly  to  the  speaker, 
"on  my  honor,  but  for  the  revolution  of  July  I  would  have 
taken  orders,  and  gone  off  down  into  the  country  somewhere 
to  lead  the  life  of  an  animal,  and " 

"And  you  would  have  read  your  Breviary  through  every 
day." 

"Yes." 

"You  are  a  coxcomb." 

"Why  we  read  the  newspapers  as  it  is  !" 

"Not  bad  that  for  a  journalist!  But  hold  your  tongue, 
we  are  going  through  a  crowd  of  subscribers.  Journalism, 
look  you,  is  the  religion  of  modern  society,  and  has  even 
gone  a  little  further." 


42  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"Its  pontiffs  are  not  obliged  to  believe  in  it  any  more  than 
the  people  are." 

Chatting  thus,  like  good  fellows  who  have  known  their  De 
Viris  illustribus  for  years  past,  they  reached  a  mansion  in  the 
Rue  Joubert. 

Emile  was  a  journalist  who  had  acquired  more  reputation 
by  dint  of  doing  nothing  than  others  had  derived  from  their 
achievements.  A  bold,  caustic,  and  powerful  critic,  he  pos- 
sessed all  the  qualities  that  his  defects  permitted.  An  out- 
spoken giber,  he  made  numberless  epigrams  on  a  friend  to 
his  face,  but  would  defend  him  if  absent  with  courage  and 
loyalty.  He  laughed  at  everything,  even  at  his  own  career. 
Always  impecunious,  he  yet  lived,  like  all  men  of  his  calibre, 
plunged  in  unspeakable  indolence.  He  would  fling  some 
word  containing  whole  volumes  in  the  teeth  of  folk  who  could 
not  put  a  syllable  of  sense  into  their  books.  He  lavished 
promises  that  he  never  fulfilled ;  he  made  a  pillow  of  his  luck 
and  reputation,  on  which  he  slept,  and  ran  the  risk  of  waking 
up  to  old  age  in  a  workhouse.  A  steadfast  friend  to  the 
gallows  foot,  a  cynical  swaggerer  with  a  child's  simplicity,  a 
worker  only  from  necessity  or  caprice. 

"  In  the  language  of  Maitre  Alcofribas,  we  are  about  to 
make  famous  a  piece  of  good  cheer,"  he  remarked  to  Raphael 
as  he  pointed  out  the  flower-stands  that  made  a  perfumed 
forest  of  the  staircase. 

"  I  like  a  vestibule  to  be  well  warmed  and  richly  carpeted," 
Raphael  said.  "  Luxury  in  the  peristyle  is  not  common  in 
France.  I  feel  as  if  life  had  begun  anew  here." 

"And  up  above  we  are  going  to  drink  and  make  merry  once 
more,  my  dear  Raphael.  Ah!  yes,"  he  went  on,  "and  I 
hope  we  are  going  to  come  off  conquerors,  too,  and  walk  over 
everybody  else's  head." 

As  he  spoke,  he  jestingly  pointed  to  the  guests.  They  were 
entering  a  large  room  which  shone  with  gilding  and  lights, 


THE    TALISMAN.  43 

and  there  all  the  younger  men  of  note  in  Paris  welcomed 
them.  Here  was  one  who  had  just  revealed  fresh  powers  ; 
his  first  picture  vied  with  the  glories  of  imperial  art.  There, 
another,  who  but  yesterday  had  launched  forth  a  volume,  an 
acrid  book  filled  with  a  sort  of  literary  arrogance,  which  opened 
up  new  ways  to  the  modern  school.  A  sculptor,  not  far  away, 
with  vigorous  power  visible  in  his  rough  features,  was  chatting 
with  one  of  those  unenthusiastic  scoffers  who  can  either  see 
excellence  anywhere  or  nowhere,  as  it  happens.  Here,  the 
cleverest  of  our  caricaturists,  with  mischievous  eyes  and  bitter 
tongue,  lay  in  wait  for  epigrams  to  translate  into  pencil 
strokes;  there  stood  the  young  and  audacious  writer,  who 
distilled  the  quintessence  of  political  ideas  better  than  any 
other  man,  or  compressed  the  work  of  some  prolific  writer  as 
he  held  him  up  to  ridicule ;  he  was  talking  with  the  poet 
whose  works  would  have  eclipsed  all  the  writings  of  the  time 
if  his  ability  had  been  as  strenuous  as  his  hatreds.  Both  were 
trying  not  to  say  the  truth  while  they  kept  clear  of  lies,  as 
they  exchanged  flattering  speeches.  A  famous  musician  admin- 
istered soothing  consolation  in  a  rallying  fashion  to  a  young 
politician  who  had  just  fallen,  quite  unhurt,  from  his  rostrum. 
Young  writers  who  lacked  style  stood  beside  other  young 
writers  who  lacked  ideas,  and  authors  of  political  prose  by 
prosaic  poets. 

At  the  sight  of  all  these  incomplete  beings,  a  simple  Saint 
Simonian,  ingenuous  enough  to  believe  in  his  own  doctrine, 
charitably  paired  them  off,  designing,  no  doubt,  to  convert 
them  into  monks  of  his  order.  A  few  men  of  science  mingled 
in  the  conversation,  like  nitrogen  in  the  atmosphere,  and 
several  vaudevillistes  shed  rays  like  the  sparkling  diamonds 
that  give  neither  light  nor  heat.  A  few  paradox-mongers, 
laughing  up  their  sleeves  at  any  folk  who  embraced  their  likes 
or  dislikes  in  men  or  affairs,  had  already  begun  a  two-edged 
policy,  conspiring  against  all  systems,  without  committing 
themselves  to  any  side.  Then  there  was  the  self-appointed 


44  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

critic  who  admires  nothing,  and  will  blow  his  nose  in  the 
middle  of  a  cavatina  at  the  Bouffons,  who  applauds  before 
any  one  else  begins,  and  contradicts  every  one  who  says  what 
he  himself  was  about  to  say ;  he  was  there  giving  out  the 
sayings  of  wittier  men  for  his  own.  Of  all  the  assembled 
guests,  a  future  lay  before  some  five ;  ten  or  so  should 
acquire  a  fleeting  renown ;  as  for  the  rest,  like  all  medioc- 
rities, they  might  apply  to  themselves  the  famous  falsehood  of 
Louis  XVIII.,  Union  and  oblivion. 

The  anxious  jocularity  of  a  man  who  is  expending  two 
thousand  crowns  sat  on  their  host.  His  eyes  turned  impa- 
tiently towards  the  door  from  time  to  time,  seeking  one  of 
his  guests  who  kept  him  waiting.  Very  soon  a  stout  little 
person  appeared,  who  was  greeted  by  a  complimentary 
murmur ;  it  was  the  notary  who  had  invented  the  newspaper 
that  very  morning.  A  valet-de-chambre  in  black  opened  the 
doors  of  a  vast  dining-room,  whither  every  one  went  without 
ceremony,  and  took  his  place  at  an  enormous  table. 

Raphael  took  a  last  look  round  the  room  before  he  left  it. 
His  wish  had  been  realized  to  the  full.  The  rooms  were 
adorned  with  silk  and  gold.  Countless  wax  tapers  set  in 
handsome  candelabra  lit  up  the  slightest  details  of  gilded 
friezes,  the  delicate  bronze  sculpture,  and  the  splendid  colors 
of  the  furniture.  The  sweet  scent  of  rare  flowers,  set  in 
stands  tastefully  made  of  bamboo,  filled  the  air.  Everything, 
even  the  curtains,  was  pervaded  by  elegance  without  preten- 
sion, and  there  was  a  certain  imaginative  charm  about  it  all 
which  acted  like  a  spell  on  the  mind  of  a  needy  man. 

"  An  income  of  a  hundred  thousand  livres  a  year  is  a  very 
nice  beginning  of  the  catechism,  and  a  wonderful  assistance 
to  putting  morality  into  our  actions,"  he  said,  sighing. 
"Truly  my  sort  of  virtue  can  scarcely  go  afoot,  and  vice 
means,  to  my  thinking,  a  garret,  a  threadbare  coat,  a  gray  hat 
in  winter  time,  and  sums  owing  to  the  porter.  I  should  like 
to  live  in  the  lap  of  luxury  a  year,  or  six  months,  no 


THE    TALISMAN.  45 

matter !  And  then  afterwards,  die.  I  should  have  known, 
exhausted,  and  consumed  a  thousand  lives  at  any  rate." 

"  Why,  you  are  taking  the  tone  of  a  stockbroker  in  good 
luck,"  said  Emile,  who  overheard  him.  "Pooh!  your  riches 
would  be  a  burden  to  you  as  soon  as  you  found  that  they 
would  spoil  your  chances  of  coming  out  above  the  rest  of  us. 
Hasn't  the  artist  always  kept  the  balance  true  between  the 
poverty  of  riches  and  the  riches  of  poverty?  And  isn't 
struggle  a  necessity  to  some  of  us  ?  Look  out  for  your  diges- 
tion, and  only  look,"  he  added,  with  a  mock-heroic  gesture, 
"  at  the  majestic,  thrice  holy,  and  edifying  appearance  of  this 
amiable  capitalist's  dining-room.  That  man  has  in  reality 
only  made  his  money  for  our  benefit.  Isn't  he  a  kind  of 
sponge  of  the  polyp  order,  overlooked  by  naturalists,  which 
should  be  carefully  squeezed  before  he  is  left  for  his  heirs  to 
feed  upon  ?  There  is  style,  isn't  there,  about  those  bas-reliefs 
that  adorn  the  walls?  And  the  lustres,  and  the  pictures, 
what  luxury  well  carried  out !  If  one  may  believe  those 
who  envy  him,  or  who  know,  or  think  they  know,  the  origins 
of  his  life,  then  this  man  got  rid  of  a  German  and  some 
others — his  best  friend  for  one,  and  the  mother  of  that  friend, 
during  the  Revolution.  Could  you  house  crimes  under  the 
venerable  Taillefer's  silvering  locks?  He  looks  to  me  a  very 
worthy  man.  Only  see  how  the  silver  sparkles,  and  is  every 

glittering  ray  like  the  stab  of  a  dagger  to  him  ?  Let  us 

go  in,  one  might  as  well  believe  in  Mahomet.  If  common 
report  speaks  truth,  here  are  thirty  men  of  talent,  and  good 
fellows  too,  prepared  to  dine  off  the  flesh  and  blood  of  a 

whole  family  ; and  here  are  we  ourselves,  a  pair  of 

youngsters  full  of  open-hearted  enthusiasm,  and  we  shall  be 
partakers  in  his  guilt.  I  have  a  mind  to  ask  our  capitalist 
whether  he  is  a  respectable  character.  " 

"  No,  not  now,"  cried  Raphael,  "  but  when  he  is  dead 
drunk;  we  shall  have  had  our  dinner  then." 

The  two  friends  sat  down  laughing.  First  of  all,  by  a 
4 


46  THE    WILD  ASS'    SA'f.V. 

glance  more  rapid  than  a  word,  each  paid  his  tribute  of  admi- 
ration to  the  splendid  general  effect  of  the  long  table,  white 
as  a  bank  of  freshly-fallen  snow,  with  its  symmetrical  line  of 
covers,  crowned  with  their  pale  golden  rolls  of  bread.  Rain- 
bow colors  gleamed  in  the  starry  rays  of  light  reflected  by  the 
glass ;  the  lights  of  the  tapers  crossed  and  recrossed  each 
other  indefinitely;  the  dishes  covered  with  their  silver  domes 
whetted  both  appetite  and  curiosity. 

Few  words  were  spoken.  Neighbors  exchanged  glances  as 
the  Madeira  circulated.  Then  the  first  course  appeared  in  all 
its  glory ;  it  would  have  done  honor  to  the  late  Cambaceres, 
Brillat-Savarin  would  have  celebrated  it.  The  wines  of  Bor- 
deaux and  Burgundy,  white  and  red,  were  royally  lavished. 
This  first  part  of  the  banquet  might  have  been  compared  in 
every  way  to  a  rendering  of  some  classical  tragedy.  The 
second  act  grew  a  trifle  noisier.  Every  guest  had  had  a  fair 
amount  to  drink,  had  tried  various  grades  at  his  pleasure,  so 
that  as  the  remains  of  the  magnificent  first  course  were  re- 
moved, tumultuous  discussions  began ;  a  pale  brow  here  and 
there  began  to  flush,  sundry  noses  took  a  purpler  hue,  faces  lit 
up,  and  eyes  sparkled. 

While  intoxication  was  only  dawning,  the  conversation  did 
not  overstep  the  bounds  of  civility ;  but  banter  and  bon  mots 
slipped  by  degrees  from  every  tongue;  and  then  slander 
began  to  rear  its  little  snake's  head,  and  spoke  in  dulcet 
tones ;  a  few  shrewd  ones  here  and  there  gave  heed  to  it, 
hoping  to  keep  their  heads.  So  the  second  course  found 
their  minds  somewhat  heated.  Every  one  ate  as  he  spoke, 
spoke  while  he  ate,  and  drank  without  heeding  the  quantity 
of  the  liquor,  the  wine  was  so  biting,  the  bouquet  so  fragrant, 
the  example  around  so  infectious.  Taillefer  made  a  point  of 
stimulating  his  guests,  and  plied  them  with  the  formidable 
wines  of  the  Rhone,  with  fierce  Tokay,  and  heady  old 
Roussillon. 

The  champagne,  impatiently  expected  and  lavishly  poured 


THE    TALISMAN.  47 

out,  was  a  scourge  of  fiery  sparks  to  these  men,  released  like 
posthorses  from  some  mail-coach  by  a  relay  ;  they  let  their 
spirits  gallop  away  into  the  wilds  of  argument  to  which  no  one 
listened,  began  to  tell  stories  which  had  no  auditors,  and 
repeatedly  asked  questions  to  which  no  answer  was  made. 
Only  the  loud  voice  of  wassail  could  be  heard,  a  voice  made 
up  of  a  hundred  confused  clamors,  which  rose  and  grew  like 
a  crescendo  of  Rossini's.  Insidious  toasts,  swagger,  and  chal- 
lenges followed. 

Each  renounced  any  pride  in  his  own  intellectual  capacity, 
in  order  to  vindicate  that  of  hogsheads,  casks,  and  vats  ;  and 
each  made  noise  enough  for  two.  A  time  came  when  the 
footmen  smiled,  while  their  masters  all  talked  at  once.  A 
philosopher  would  have  been  interested,  doubtless,  by  the 
singularity  of  the  thoughts  expressed,  a  politician  would  have 
been  amazed  by  the  incongruity  of  the  methods  discussed 
in  that  melee  of  words  or  doubtfully  luminous  paradoxes, 
where  truths,  grotesquely  caparisoned,  met  in  conflict  across 
the  uproar  of  brawling  judgments,  of  arbitrary  decisions  and 
folly,  much  as  bullets,  shells,  and  grapeshot  are  hurled  across  a 
battlefield. 

It  was  at  once  a  volume  and  a  picture.  Every  philosophy, 
religion,  and  moral  code  differing  so  greatly  in  every  latitude, 
every  government,  every  great  achievement  of  the  human 
intellect  fell  before  a  scythe  as  long  as  Time's  own  ;  and 
you  might  have  found  it  hard  to  decide  whether  it  was 
wielded  by  Gravity  intoxicated,  or  by  Inebriation  grown 
sober  and  clear-sighted.  Borne  away  by  a  kind  of  tempest, 
their  minds,  like  the  sea  raging  against  the  cliffs,  seemed 
ready  to  shake  the  laws  which  confine  the  ebb  and  flow 
of  civilizations ;  unconsciously  fulfilling  the  will  of  God, 
who  has  suffered  evil  and  good  to  abide  in  nature,  and  re- 
served the  secret  of  their  continual  strife  to  Himself.  A 
frantic  travesty  of  debate  ensued,  a  Walpurgis-revel  of  intel- 
lects. Between  the  dreary  jests  of  these  children  of  the 


48  THE    WILD  ASS'  SKIN. 

Revolution  over  the  inauguration  of  a  newspaper,  and  the 
talk  of  the  joyous  gossips  at  Gargantua's  birth,  stretched  the 
gulf  that  divides  the  nineteenth  century  from  the  sixteenth. 
Laughingly  they  had  begun  the  work  of  destruction,  and  our 
journalists  laughed  amid  the  ruins. 

"What  is  the  name  of  that  young  man  over  there?"  said 
the  notary,  indicating  Raphael.  "  I  thought  I  heard  some 
one  call  him  Valentin." 

"  What  stuff  is  this  ?  "  said  Emile,  laughing  ;  "  plain  Val- 
entin, say  you?  Raphael  de  Valentin,  if  you  please.  We 
bear  an  eagle  or,  on  a  field  sable,  with  a  silver  crown,  beak, 
and  claws  gules,  and  a  fine  motto :  NON  CECIDIT  ANIMUS. 
We  are  no  foundling  child,  but  a  descendant  of  the  Emperor 
Valens,  of  the  stock  of  the  Valentinois,  founders  of  the  cities 
of  Valence  in  France,  and  Valencia  in  Spain,  rightful  heirs  to 
the  Empire  of  the  East.  If  we  suffer  Mahmoud  on  the 
throne  of  Byzantium,  it  is  out  of  pure  condescension,  and  for 
lack  of  funds  and  soldiers." 

With  a  fork  flourished  above  Raphael's  head,  Emile  out- 
lined a  crown  upon  it.  The  notary  bethought  himself  a 
moment,  but  soon  fell  to  drinking  again,  with  a  gesture 
peculiar  to  himself;  it  was  quite  impossible,  it  seemed  to 
say,  to  secure  in  his  clientele  the  cities  of  Valence  and  Byzan- 
tium, the  Emperor  Valens,  Mahmoud,  and  the  house  of  Valen- 
tinois. 

"  Should  not  the  destruction  of  those  ant-hills,  Babylon, 
Tyre,  Carthage,  and  Venice,  each  crushed  beneath  the  foot 
of  a  passing  giant,  serve  as  a  warning  to  man,  vouchsafed  by 
some  mocking  power?  "  said  Claude  Vignon,  who  must  play 
the  Bossuet,  as  a  sort  of  purchased  slave,  at  the  rate  of  five- 
pence  a  line. 

"  Perhaps  Moses,  Sylla,  Louis  XL,  Richelieu,  Robespierre, 
and  Napoleon  were  but  the  same  men  who  cross  our  civili- 
zations now  and  again,  like  a  comet  across  the  sky,"  said  a 
disciple  of  Ballanche. 


THE    TALISMAN.  49 

"Why  try  to  fathom  the  designs  of  Providence?"  said 
Canalis,  maker  of  ballads. 

"  Come,  now,"  said  the  man  who  set  up  for  a  critic, 
"  there  is  nothing  more  elastic  in  the  world  than  your  Prov- 
idence." 

"  Well,  sir,  Louis  XIV.  sacrified  more  lives  over  digging  the 
foundations  of  the  Maintenon's  aqueducts,  than  the  Conven- 
tion expended  in  order  to  assess  the  taxes  justly,  to  make  one 
law  for  everybody,  and  one  nation  of  France,  and  to  establish 
the  rule  of  equal  inheritance,"  said  Massol,  whom  the  lack 
of  a  syllable  before  his  name  had  made  a  Republican. 

"Are  you  going  to  leave  our  heads  on  our  shoulders?" 
asked  Moreau  (of  the  Oise),  a  substantial  farmer.  "  You, 
sir,  who  took  blood  for  wine  just  now?" 

"  Where  is  the  use?  Aren't  the  principles  of  social  order 
worth  some  sacrifices,  sir  ?  " 

"  Hi !  Bixiou  !  What's-his-name,  the  Republican,  con- 
siders a  landowner's  head  a  sacrifice  !  "  said  a  young  man  to 
his  neighbor. 

"  Men  and  events  count  for  nothing,"  said  the  Republican, 
following  out  his  theory  in  spite  of  hiccoughs;  "  in  politics, 
as  in  philosophy,  there  are  only  principles  and  ideas." 

"  What  an  abomination  !  Then  you  would  ruthlessly  put 
your  friends  to  death  for  a  shibboleth?" 

"  Eh,  sir !  the  man  who  feels  compunction  is  your  thorough 
scoundrel,  for  he  has  some  notion  of  virtue  ;  while  Peter  the 
Great  and  the  Duke  of  Alva  were  embodied  systems,  and  the 
pirate  Monbard  an  organization." 

"But  can't  society  rid  itself  of  your  systems  and  organiza- 
tions?" said  Canalis. 

''Oh,  granted  !  "  cried  the  Republican. 

"  That  stupid  Republic  of  yours  makes  me  feel  queasy. 
We  sha'n't  be  able  to  carve  a  capon  in  peace,  because  we 
shall  find  the  agrarian  law  inside  it." 

"  Ah,  my  little  Brutus,  stuffed  with  truffles,  your  principles 


50  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

are  all  right  enough.  But  you  are  like  my  valet,  the  rogue  is 
so  frightfully  possessed  with  a  mania  for  property  that  if  I 
left  him  to  clean  my  clothes  after  his  fashion,  he  would  soon 
clean  me  out." 

"Crass  idiots!"  replied  the  Republican,  "you  are  for 
setting  a  nation  straight  with  tooth-picks.  To  your  way  of 
thinking,  justice  is  more  dangerous  than  thieves." 

"  Oh,  dear  !  "  cried  the  attorney  Desroches. 

"Aren't  they  a  bore  with  their  politics  !  "  said  the  notary 
Cardot.  "  Shut  up  !  That's  enough  of  it.  There  is  no  knowl- 
edge nor  virtue  worth  shedding  a  drop  of  blood  for.  If  Truth 
were  brought  into  liquidation,  we  might  find  her  insolent." 

"It  would  be  much  less  trouble,  no  doubt,  to  amuse  our- 
selves with  evil,  rather  than  dispute  about  good.  Moreover, 
I  would  give  all  the  speeches  made  for  forty  years  past  at  the 
Tribune  for  a  trout,  for  one  of  Perrault's  tales  or  Charlet's 
sketches." 

"Quite  right!  Hand  me  the  asparagus.  Because,  after 
all,  liberty  begets  anarchy,  anarchy  leads  to  despotism,  and 
despotism  back  again  to  liberty.  Millions  have  died  without 
securing  a  triumph  for  any  one  system.  Is  not  that  the 
vicious  circle  in  which  the  whole  moral  world  revolves?  Man 
believes  that  he  has  reached  perfection,  when  in  fact  he  has 
but  re-arranged  matters." 

"  Oh  !  oh  !  "  cried  Cursy,  the  vaudevilliste  ;  "in  that  case, 
gentlemen,  here's  to  Charles  X.,  the  father  of  liberty." 

"  Why  not  ?"  asked  Emile.  "When  law  becomes  des- 
potic, morals  are  relaxed,  and  vice  versa."" 

"  Let  us  drink  to  the  imbecility  of  authority,  which  gives  us 
such  an  authority  over  imbeciles  !  "  said  the  banker. 

"Napoleon  left  us  glory,  at  any  rate,  my  good  friend  !  " 
exclaimed  a  naval  officer  who  had  never  left  Brest. 

"  Glory  is  a  poor  bargain  ;  you  buy  it  dear,  and  it  will  not 
keep.  Does  not  the  egotism  of  the  great  take  the  form  of 
glory,  just  as  for  nobodies  it  is  their  own  well-being?" 


77/7:     TALISMAN.  51 

"  You  are  very  fortunate,  sir " 

"The  first  inventor  of  ditches  must  have  been  a  weakling, 
for  society  is  only  useful  to  the  puny.  The  savage  and  the 
philosopher,  at  either  extreme  of  the  moral  scale,  hold  prop- 
erty in  equal  horror." 

"All  very  fine!"  said  Cardot ;  "but  if  there  were  no 
property,  there  would  be  no  documents  to  draw  up." 

"  These  green  peas  are  excessively  delicious  !  " 

"And  the  cure  was  found  dead  in  his  bed  in  the  morning. 


"  Who  is  talking  about  death?  Pray  don't  trifle,  I  have 
an  uncle." 

"  Could  you  bear  his  loss  with  resignation?" 

"No  question." 

"  Gentlemen,  listen  to  me !  How  TO  KILL  AN  UNCLE. 
Silence!  (Cries  of  "Hush!  hush!")  In  the  first  place, 
take  an  uncle,  large  and  stout,  seventy  years  old  at  least,  they 
are  the  best  uncles.  (Sensation.)  Get  him  to  eat  a  pate  de 
foie  gras,  any  pretext  will  do." 

"Ah,  but  my  uncle  is  a  thin,  tall  man,  and  very  niggardly 
and  abstemious." 

"That  sort  of  uncle  is  a  monster;  he  misappropriates 
existence." 

"Then,"  the  speaker  on  uncles  went  on,  "tell  him,  while 
he  is  digesting  it,  that  his  banker  has  failed." 

"  How  if  he  bears  up  ?  " 

"  Let  loose  a  pretty  girl  on  him." 

"And  if ?"  asked  the  other,  with  a  shake  of  the 

head. 

"  Then  he  wouldn't  be  an  uncle — an  uncle  is  a  gay  dog  by 
nature." 

"  Malibran  has  lost  two  notes  in  her  voice." 

"  No,  sir,  she  has  not." 

"Yes,  sir,  she  has." 

"Oh,  ho  !     No  and  yes,  is  not  the  sum-up  of  all  religious, 


52  THE    U'lLD   ASS'    SKIN. 

political,  or  literary  dissertations?  Man  is  a  clown  dancing 
on  the  edge  of  an  abyss." 

"You  would  make  out  that  I  am  a  fool." 

"On  the  contrary,  you  cannot  make  me  out." 

"Education,  there's  a  pretty  piece  of  tomfoolery.  M. 
Heineffettermach  estimates  the  number  of  printed  volumes 
at  more  than  a  thousand  millions ;  and  a  man  cannot  read 
more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  in  his  lifetime. 
So,  just  tell  me  what  that  word  education  means.  For  some 
it  consists  in  knowing  the  names  of  Alexander's  horse,  of  the 
dog  Berecillo,  of  the  Seigneur  d'Accords,  and  in  ignorance 
of  the  man  to  whom  we  owe  the  discovery  of  rafting  and  the 
manufacture  of  porcelain.  For  others  it  is  the  knowledge 
how  to  burn  a  will  and  live  respected,  be  looked  up  to  and 
popular,  instead  of  stealing  a  watch  with  half-a-dozen  aggra- 
vating circumstances,  after  a  previous  conviction,  and  so 
perishing,  hated  and  dishonored,  in  the  Place  de  Greve." 

"  Will  Nathan's  work  live?  " 

"  He  has  very  clever  collaborators,  sir." 

"Or  Canalis'?" 

"  He  is  a  great  man  ;  let  us  say  no  more  about  him." 

"You  are  all  drunk!  " 

"  The  consequence  of  a  Constitution  is  the  immediate  stul- 
tification of  intellects.  Art,  science,  public  works,  every- 
thing, is  consumed  by  a  horribly  egotistic  feeling,  the  leprosy 
of  the  time.  Three  hundred  of  your  bourgeoisie,  set  down  on 
benches,  will  only  think  of  planting  poplars.  Tyranny  does 
great  things  lawlessly,  while  Liberty  will  scarcely  trouble  her- 
self to  do  petty  ones  lawfully." 

"Your  reciprocal  instruction  will  turn  out  counters  in 
human  flesh,"  broke  in  an  Absolutist.  "All  individuality 
will  disappear  in  a  people  brought  to  a  dead  level  by  educa- 
tion." 

"For  all  that,  is  not  the  aim  of  society  to  secure  happiness 
to  each  member  of  it?  "  asked  the  Saint-Simonian. 


THE    TALISMAN.  53 

"If  you  had  an  income  of  fifty  thousand  livres,  you  would 
not  think  much  about  the  people.  If  you  are  smitten  with  a 
tender  passion  for  the  race,  go  to  Madagascar ;  there  you  will 
find  a  nice  little  nation  all  ready  to  Saint-Simonize,  classify, 
and  cork  up  in  your  phials,  but  here  every  one  fits  into  his 
niche  like  a  peg  in  a  hole.  A  porter  is  a  porter,  and  a  block- 
head is  a  fool,  without  a  college  of  fathers  to  promote  them 
to  those  positions." 

"You  are  a  Carlist." 

"  And  why  not  ?  "  Despotism  pleases  me ;  it  implies  a  cer- 
tain contempt  for  the  human  race.  I  have  no  animosity  against 
kings,  they  are  so  amusing.  Is  it  nothing  to  sit  enthroned  in 
a  room,  at  a  distance  of  thirty  million  leagues  from  the  sun  ?  " 

"  Let  us  once  more  take  a  broad  view  of  civilization,"  said 
the  man  of  learning  who,  for  the  benefit  of  the  inattentive 
sculptor,  had  opened  a  discussion  on  primitive  society  and 
autochthono  s  races.  "  The  vigor  of  a  nation  in  its  origin  was 
in  a  way  pi  ysical,  unitary,  and  crude ;  then  as  aggregations 
increased,  grvernment  advanced  by  a  decomposition  of  the 
primitive  rule,  more  or  less  skilfully  managed.  For  example. 
in  remote  ages  national  strength  lay  in  theocracy,  the  priest 
held  both  sword  and  censer;  a  little  later  there  were  two 
priests,  the  pontiff  and  the  king.  To-day  our  society,  the 
latest  word  of  civilization,  has  distributed  power  according  to 
the  number  of  combinations,  and  we  come  to  the  forces  called 
business,  thought,  money,  and  eloquence.  Authority  thus 
divided  is  steadily  approaching  a  social  dissolution,  with  in- 
terest as  its  one  opposing  barrier.  We  depend  no  longer 
on  either  religion  or  physical  force,  but  upon  intellect.  Can 
a  book  replace  the  sword  ?  Can  discussion  be  a  substitute  for 
action?  That  is  the  question." 

"Intellect  has  made  an  end  of  everything,"  cried  the 
Carlist.  "  Come,  now !  Absolute  freedom  has  brought 
about  national  suicides ;  their  triumph  left  them  as  listless  as 
an  English  millionaire." 


54  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

11  Won't  you  tell  us  something  new?  You  have  made  fun 
of  authority  of  all  sorts  to-day,  which  is  every  bit  as  vulgar 
as  denying  the  existence  of  God.  So  you  have  no  belief  left, 
and  the  century  is  like  an  old  Sultan  worn  out  by  debauchery ! 
Your  Byron,  in  short,  sings  of  crime  and  its  emotions  in  a 
final  despair  of  poetry." 

"Don't  you  know,"  replied  Bianchon,  quite  drunk  by  this 
time,  "  that  a  dose  of  phosphorus  more  or  less  makes  the  man 
of  genius  or  the  scoundrel,  a  clever  man  or  an  idiot,  a  virtuous 
person  or  a  criminal  ?  " 

"Can  any  one  treat  of  virtue  thus?"  cried  Cursy. 
"  Virtue,  the  subject  of  every  drama  at  the  theatre,  the 
denoument  of  every  play,  the  foundation  of  every  court  of 
law." 

"  Be  quiet,  you  ass.  You  are  an  Achilles  for  virtue,  with- 
out his  heel,"  said  Bixiou. 

"Some  drink  !  " 

"  What  will  you  bet  that  I  will  drink  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne like  a  flash,  at  one  pull  ?  " 

"What  a  flash  of  wit !  " 

"  Drunk  as  lords,"  muttered  a  young  man  gravely,  trying 
to  give  some  wine  to  his  waistcoat. 

"Yes,  sir;  real  government  is  the  art  of  ruling  by  public 
opinion." 

"  Opinion  ?  That  is  the  most  vicious  jade  of  all.  Accord- 
ing to  you  moralists  and  politicians,  the  laws  you  set  up  are 
always  to  go  before  those  of  nature,  and  opinion  before  con- 
science. You  are  right  and  wrong  both.  Suppose  society 
bestows  down  pillows  on  us,  that  benefit  is  made  up  for  by 
the  gout;  and  justice  is  likewise  tempered  by  red-tape,  and 
colds  accompany  Cashmere  shawls." 

"Wretch  !  "  Emile  broke  in  upon  the  misanthrope,  "how 
can  you  slander  civilization  here  at  table,  up  to  the  eyes  in 
wines  and  exquisite  dishes?  Eat  away  at  that  roebuck  with 
gilded  horns  and  feet,  and  do  not  carp  at  your  mother." 


THE    TALISMAN.  Oo 

"Is  it  any  fault  of  mine  if  Catholicism  puts  a  million  deities 
in  a  sack  of  flour,  that  Republics  will  end  in  a  Napoleon,  that 
monarchy  dwells  between  the  assassination  of  Henry  IV. 
and  the  trial  of  Louis  XVI.,  and  Liberalism  produces  La 
Fayettes?" 

"  Didn't  you  embrace  him  in  July  ?  " 

"No." 

"Then  hold  your  tongue,  you  sceptic." 

"  Sceptics  are  the  most  conscientious  of  men." 

"They  have  no  conscience." 

"  What  are  you  saying?     They  have  two  a  piece,  at  least." 

"  So  you  want  to  discount  heaven,  a  thoroughly  commercial 
notion.  Ancient  religions  were  but  the  unchecked  develop- 
ment of  physical  pleasure,  but  we  have  developed  a  soul  and 
expectations;  some  advance  has  been  made." 

"  What  can  you  expect,  my  friends,  of  a  century  filled  with 
politics  to  repletion?"  asked  Nathan.  "  What  befell  "  The 
History  of  the  King  of  Bohemia  and  his  Seven  Castles"  a 
most  entrancing  conception?  — 

"  I  say,"  the  would-be  critic  cried  down  the  whole  length 
of  the  table,  "the  phrases  might  have  been  drawn  at  hap- 
hazard from  a  hat,  'twas  a  work  written  '  down  to  Charen- 
ton.'  ' 

"You  area  fool  !  " 

"  And  you  are  a  rogue  !  " 

"Oh!  oh!" 

"Ah!  ah!  " 

"  They  are  going  to  fight." 

"  No,  they  aren't." 

"  You  will  find  me  to-morrow,  sir." 

"  This  very  moment,"  Nathan  answered. 

"  Come,  come,  you  pair  of  fire-eaters." 

"  You  are  another  !  "  said  the  prime  mover  in  the  quarrel. 

"  They  can  hardly  stand  on  their  legs." 

"  Ah,   I  can't  stand    upright,    perhaps,"  said    the  pugna- 


56  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

cious  Nathan,  straightening  himself  up  like  a  stag-beetle 
about  to  fly. 

He  stared  stupidly  round  the  table,  then  completely  ex- 
hausted by  the  effort,  sank  back  into  his  chair,  and  mutely 
hung  his  head. 

"  Would  it  not  have  been  nice,"  the  critic  said  to  his 
neighbor,  "  to  fight  about  a  book  I  have  neither  read  nor 
seen?" 

"  Emile,  look  out  for  your  coat,  your  neighbor  is  growing 
pale,"  said  Bixiou. 

"  Kant?  Yet  another  ball  flung  out  for  fools  to  sport  with, 
sir  !  Materialism  and  spiritualism  are  a  fine  pair  of  battle- 
dores with  which  charlatans  in  long  gowns  keep  a  shuttle-cock 
a-going.  Suppose  that  God  is  everywhere,  as  Spinoza  says, 

or  that  all  things  proceed  from  God,  as  says  St.  Paul. 

the  nincompoops,  the  door  shuts  or  opens,  but  isn't  the  move- 
ment the  same  ?  Does  the  fowl  come  from  the  egg,  or  the 

egg  from  the  fowl  ? Just  hand  me  some  duck and 

there,  you  have  all  science." 

"Simpleton  !  "  cried  the  man  of  science,  ''your  problem 
is  settled  by  fact ! ' ' 

"What  fact?" 

"Professors'  chairs  were  not  made  for  philosophy,  but 
philosophy  for  professors'  chairs.  Put  on  a  pair  of  spectacles 
and  read  the  budget." 

"Thieves  !  " 

"Nincompoops!  " 

"  Knaves!  " 

"Gulls!" 

"  Where  but  in  Paris  will  you  find  such  a  ready  and  rapid 
exchange  of  thought?  "  cried  Bixiou,  in  a  deep,  bass  voice. 

"  Bixiou  !     Act  a  classical  farce  for  us  !     Come,  now  !  " 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  depict  the  nineteenth  century?" 

"Silence!  " 

"Pay  attention  !  " 


THE    TALISMAN.  57 

"  Clap  a  muffle  on  your  trumpets  !  " 

"Shut  up,  you  Turk!  " 

"  Give  him  some  wine,  and  let  that  fellow  keep  quiet." 

"  Now,  then,  Bixiou  !  " 

The  artist  buttoned  his  black  coat  to  the  collar,  put  on 
yellow  gloves,  and  began  to  burlesqne  the  Revue  des  Deux 
Mondes  by  acting  a  squinting  old  lady ;  but  the  upi  ->ar 
drowned  his  voice,  and  no  one  heard  a  word  of  the  satiri;,, 
Still,  if  he  did  not  catch  the  spirit  of  the  century,  he  repre^i 
sented  the  Revue  at  any  rate,  for  his  own  intentions  were  not 
very  clear  to  him. 

Dessert  was  served  as  if  by  magic.  A  huge  epergne  of 
gilded  bronze  from  Thomire's  studio  overshadowed  the  table. 
Tall  statuettes,  which  a  celebrated  artist  had  endued  with 
ideal  beauty  according  to  conventional  European  notions, 
sustained  and  carried  pyramids  of  strawberries,  pines,  fresh 
dates,  golden  grapes,  clear-skinned  peaches,  oranges  brought 
from  Setubal  by  steamer,  pomegranates,  Chinese  fruit ;  in 
short,  all  the  surprises  of  luxury,  miracles  of  confectionery, 
the  most  tempting  dainties,  and  choicest  delicacies.  The 
coloring  of  this  epicurean  work  of  art  was  enhanced  by  the 
splendors  of  porcelain,  by  sparkling  outlines  of  gold,  by  the 
chasing  of  the  vases.  Poussin's  landscapes,  copied  on  Sevres 
ware,  were  crowned  with  graceful  fringes  of  moss,  green, 
translucent  and  fragile  as  ocean  weeds. 

The  revenue  of  a  German  prince  would  not  have  defrayed 
the  cost  of  this  arrogant  display.  Silver  and  mother-of- 
pearl,  gold  and  crystal,  were  lavished  afresh  in  new  forms; 
but  scarcely  a  vague  idea  of  this  almost  Oriental  fairyland 
penetrated  eyes  now  heavy  with  wine,  or  crossed  the  delirium 
of  intoxication.  The  fire  and  fragrance  of  the  wines  acted 
like  potent  philtres  and  magical  fumes,  producing  a  kind  of 
mirage  in  the  brain,  binding  feet,  and  weighing  down  hands. 
The  pyramids  of  fruit  were  ransacked,  voices  grew  thicker, 
the  clamor  increased.  Words  were  no  longer  distinct,  glasses 


58  THE    WILD   ASS'   SfCIAT. 

flew  in  pieces,  senseless  peals  of  laughter  broke  out.  Cursy 
snatched  up  a  horn  and  struck  up  a  flourish  on  it.  It  acted 
like  a  signal  given  by  the  devil.  Yells,  hisses,  songs,  cries, 
and  groans  went  up  from  the  maddened  crew.  You  might 
have  smiled  to  see  men,  light-hearted  by  nature,  grow  tragical 
as  Crebillon's  dramas,  and  pensive  as  a  sailor  in  a  coach. 
Hard-headed  men  blabbed  secrets  to  the  inquisitive,  who  were 
long  passed  heeding  them.  Saturnine  faces  were  wreathed  in 
smiles  worthy  of  a  pirouetting  dancer.  Claude  Vignon 
shuffled  about  like  a  bear  in  a  cage.  Intimate  friends  began 
to  fight. 

Animal  likenesses,  so  curiously  traced  by  physiologists,  in 
human  faces,  came  out  in  gestures  and  behavior.  A  book  lay 
open  for  a  Bichat  if  he  had  repaired  thither  fasting  and  col- 
lected. The  master  of  the  house,  knowing  his  condition,  did 
not  dare  to  stir,  but  encouraged  his  guests'  extravagances 
with  a  fixed  grimacing  smile,  meant  to  be  hospitable  and 
appropriate.  His  large  face,  turning  from  blue  and  red  to  a 
purple  shade  terrible  to  see,  partook  of  the  general  commo- 
tion by  movements  like  the  heaving  and  pitching  of  a  brig. 

"  Now,  did  you  murder  them?"  Emile  asked  him. 

"  Capital  punishment  is  going  to  be  abolished,  they  say,  in 
favor  of  the  Revolution  of  July?"  answered  Taillefer,  raising 
his  eyebrows  with  drunken  sagacity. 

"Don't  they  rise  up  before  you  in  dreams  at  times?" 
Raphael  persisted. 

"There's  a  statute  of  limitations,"  said  the  murderer — 
Croesus. 

"  And  on  his  tombstone,"  Emile  began,  with  a  sardonic 
laugh,  "the  stonemason  will  carve,  'Passer-by,  accord  a 
tear,  in  memory  of  one  that's  here.'  Oh,"  he  continued, 
"  I  would  cheerfully  pay  a  hundred  sous  to  any  mathematician 
who  would  prove  the  existence  of  hell  to  me  by  an  algebraical 
equation." 

He  flung  up  a  coin  and  cried — 


THE    TALISMAN.  59 

"  Heads  for  the  existence  of  God  !  " 

"  Don't  look  !  "  Raphael  cried,  pouncing  upon  it.  "  Who 
knows?  Suspense  is  so  pleasant." 

"Unluckily,"  Emile  said,  with  burlesque  melancholy,  "  I 
can  see  no  halting-place  between  the  unbeliever's  arithmetic 
and  the  papal  Pater  noster.  Pshaw !  let  us  drink.  Clink 
glasses  was,  I  believe,  the  oracular  answer  of  the  Epicureans 
and  final  conclusion  of  Pantagruel." 

"  We  owe  our  arts  and  monuments  to  the  Pater  noster,  and 
our  knowledge,  too,  perhaps ;  and  a  still  greater  benefit — 
modern  government — whereby  a  vast  and  teeming  society  is 
wondrously  represented  by  some  five  hundred  intellects.  It 
neutralizes  opposing  forces  and  gives  free  play  to  CIVILIZA- 
TION, that  Titan  queen  who  has  succeeded  the  ancient  terrible 
figure  of  the  KING,  that  sham  Providence,  reared  by  man 
between  himself  and  heaven.  In  the  face  of  such  achieve- 
ments atheism  seems  like  a  barren  skeleton.  What  do  you 
say?" 

"I  am  thinking  of  the  seas  of  blood  shed  by  Catholicism," 
Emile  replied,  quite  unimpressed.  "  It  has  drained  our  hearts 
and  veins  dry  to  make  a  mimic  deluge.  No  matter  !  Every 
man  who  thinks  must  range  himself  beneath  the  banner  of 
Christ,  for  He  alone  has  consummated  the  triumph  of  spirit  over 
matter ;  He  alone  has  revealed  to  us,  like  a  poet,  an  interme- 
diate world  that  separates  us  from  the  Deity." 

"  Believest  thou?"  asked  Raphael,  with  an  unaccountable 
drunken  smile.  "  Very  good  ;  we  must  not  commit  ourselves; 
so  we  will  drink  the  celebrated  toast,  Diis  ignotis  /" 

And  they  drained  the  chalice  filled  up  with  science,  car- 
bonic acid  gas,  perfumes,  poetry,  and  incredulity. 

"  If  the  gentlemen  will  go  to  the  drawing-room,  coffee  is 
ready  for  them,"  said  the  major-domo. 

There  was  scarcely  one  of  those  present  whose  mind  was 
not  floundering  by  this  time  in  the  delights  of  chaos,  where 
every  spark  of  intelligence  is  quenched,  and  the  body,  set  free 


60  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

from  its  tyranny,  gives  itself  up  to  the  frenetic  joys  of  liberty. 
Some  who  had  arrived  at  the  apogee  of  intoxication  were 
dejected,  as  they  painfully  tried  to  arrest  a  single  thought 
which  might  assure  them  of  their  own  existence;  others,  deep 
in  the  heavy  morasses  of  indigestion,  denied  the  possibility  of 
movement.  The  noisy  and  the  silent  were  oddly  assorted. 

For  all  that,  when  new  joys  were  announced  to  them  by  the 
stentorian  tones  of  the  servant,  who  spoke  on  his  master's 
behalf,  they  all  rose,  leaning  upon,  dragging  or  carrying  one 
another.  But  on  the  threshold  of  the  room  the  entire  crew 
paused  for  a  moment,  motionless,  as  if  fascinated.  The  intem- 
perate pleasures  of  the  banquet  seemed  to  fade  away  at  this 
titillating  spectacle,  prepared  by  their  amphitryon  to  appeal 
to  the  most  sensual  of  their  instincts. 

Beneath  the  shining  wax-lights  in  a  golden  chandelier, 
round  about  a  table  inlaid  with  gilded  metal,  a  group  of 
women,  whose  eyes  shone  like  diamonds,  suddenly  met  the 
stupefied  stare  of  the  revelers.  Their  toilettes  were  splendid, 
but  less  magnificent  than  their  beauty,  which  eclipsed  the 
other  marvels  of  this  palace.  A  light  shone  from  their  eyes, 
bewitching  as  those  of  sirens,  more  brilliant  and  ardent  than 
the  blaze  that  streamed  down  upon  the  snowy  marble,  the 
delicately  carved  surfaces  of  bronze,  and  lit  up  the  satin  sheen 
of  the  tapestry.  The  contrasts  of  their  attitudes  and  the 
slight  movements  of  their  heads,  each  differing  in  character 
and  nature  of  attraction,  set  the  heart  afire.  It  was  like  a 
thicket,  where  blossoms  mingled  with  rubies,  sapphires,  and 
coral ;  a  combination  of  gossamer  scarves  that  flickered  like 
beacon-lights;  of  black  ribbons  about  snowy  throats;  of  gor- 
geous turbans  and  demurely  enticing  apparel.  It  was  a  seraglio 
that  appealed  to  every  eye,  and  fulfilled  every  fancy.  Each 
form  posed  to  admiration  was  scarcely  concealed  by  the  folds 
of  cashmere,  and  half-hidden,  half-revealed,  by  transparent 
gauze  and  diaphanous  silk.  The  little  slender  feet  were  elo- 
quent, though  the  fresh  red  lips  uttered  no  sound. 


THE    TALISMAN.  61 

Demure  and  fragile-looking  girls,  pictures  of  maidenly  inno- 
cence, with  a  semblance  of  conventual  unction  about  their 
heads,  were  there  like  apparitions  that  a  breath  might  dissipate. 
Aristocratic  beauties  with  haughty  glances;  languid,  flexible, 
slender,  and  complaisant,  bent  their  heads  as  though  there 
were  royal  protectors  still  in  the  market.  An  Englishwoman 
seemed  like  a  spirit  of  melancholy — some  coy,  pale,  shadowy 
form  among  Ossian's  mists,  or  a  type  of  remorse  flying  from 
crime.  The  Parisienne  was  not  wanting  in  all  her  beauty 
that  consists  in  an  indescribable  charm  ;  armed  with  her  irre- 
sistible weakness,  vain  of  her  costume  and  her  wit,  pliant  and 
hard,  a  heartless,  passionless  siren  that  yet  can  create  factitious 
treasures  of  passion  and  counterfeit  emotion. 

Italians  shone  in  the  throng,  serene  and  self-possessed  in  their 
bliss  ;  handsome  Normans,  with  splendid  figures  ;  women  of  the 
south,  with  black  hair  and  well-shaped  eyes.  Lebel  might  have 
summoned  together  all  the  fair  women  of  Versailles,  who  since 
morning  had  perfected  all  their  wiles  and  now  came  like  a 
troop  of  Oriental  women,  bidden  by  the  slave  merchant  to  be 
ready  to  set  out  at  dawn.  They  stood  disconcerted  and  con- 
fused about  the  table,  huddled  together  in  a  murmuring  group 
like  bees  in  a  hive.  The  combination  of  timid  embarrass- 
ment with  coquettishness  and  a  sort  of  expostulation  was  the 
result  either  of  calculated  effect  or  spontaneous  modesty. 
Perhaps  a  sentiment  of  which  women  are  never  utterly  divested 
prescribed  to  them  the  cloak  of  modesty  to  heighten  and  en- 
hance the  charms  of  wantonness.  So  the  venerable  Taillefer's 
designs  seemed  on  the  point  of  collapse;  for  these  unbridled 
natures  were  subdued  from  the  very  first  by  the  majesty  with 
which  woman  is  invested.  There  was  a  murmur  of  admira- 
tion, which  vibrated  like  a  soft  musical  note.  Wine  had  not 
taken  love  for  traveling  companion  ;  instead  of  violent  tumult 
of  passions,  the  guests  thus  taken  by  surprise,  in  a  moment 
of  weakness,  gave  themselves  up  to  luxurious  raptures  of 
delight. 
5 


62  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

Artists  obeyed  the  voice  of  poetry  which  constrains  them, 
and  studied  with  pleasure  the  different  delicate  tints  of  these 
chosen  examples  of  beauty.  Sobered  by  a  thought  perhaps 
due  to  some  emanation  from  a  bubble  of  carbonic  acid  in  the 
champagne,  a  philosopher  shuddered  at  the  misfortunes  which 
had  brought  these  women,  once  perhaps  worthy  of  the  truest 
devotion,  to  this.  Each  one  doubtless  could  have  unfolded 
a  cruel  tragedy.  Infernal  tortures  followed  in  the  train  of 
most  of  them,  and  they  drew  after  them  faithless  men,  broken 
vows,  and  pleasures  atoned  for  in  wretchedness.  Polite  ad- 
vances were  made  by  the  guests,  and  conversations  began,  as 
varied  in  character  as  the  speakers.  They  broke  up  into 
groups.  It  might  have  been  a  fashionable  drawing-room 
where  ladies  and  young  girls  offer  after  dinner  the  assistance 
that  coffee,  liqueurs,  and  sugar  afford  to  diners  who  are  strug- 
gling in  the  toils  of  a  perverse  digestion.  But  in  a  little 
while  laughter  broke  out,  the  murmur  grew,  and  voices  were 
raised.  The  saturnalia,  subdued  for  a  moment,  threatened  at 
times  to  renew  itself.  The  alternations  of  sound  and  silence 
bore  a  distant  resemblance  to  a  symphony  of  Beethoven's. 

The  two  friends,  seated  on  a  silken  divan,  were  first  ap- 
proached by  a  tall,  well-proportioned  girl  of  stately  bearing ; 
her  features  were  irregular,  but  her  face  was  striking  and  vehe- 
ment in  expression,  and  impressed  the  mind  by  the  vigor  of 
its  contrasts.  Her  dark  hair  fell  in  luxuriant  curls,  with 
which  some  hand  seemed  to  have  played  havoc  already,  for 
the  locks  fell  lightly  over  the  splendid  shoulders  that  thus 
attracted  attention.  The  long  brown  curls  half  hid  her 
queenly  throat,  though  where  the  light  fell  upon  it,  the  delicacy 
of  its  fine  outlines  was  revealed.  Her  warm  and  vivid  color- 
ing was  set  off  by  the  dead  white  of  her  complexion.  Bold 
and  ardent  glances  came  from  under  the  long  eyelashes ;  the 
damp,  red,  half-open  lips  challenged  a  kiss.  Her  frame  was 
strong  but  compliant ;  with  a  bust  and  arms  strongly  developed, 
as  in  figures  drawn  by  the  Caracci,  she  yet  seemed  active  and 


THE    TALISMAN.  63 

elastic,  with  a  panther's  strength  and  suppleness,  and  in  the 
same  way  the  energetic  grace  of  her  figure  suggested  fierce 
pleasures. 

But  though  she  might  romp  perhaps  and  laugh,  there  was 
something  terrible  in  her  eyes  and  her  smile.  Like  a  python- 
ess possessed  by  the  demon,  she  inspired  awe  rather  than 
pleasure.  All  changes,  one  after  another,  flashed  like  light- 
ning over  every  mobile  feature  of  her  face.  She  might  cap- 
tivate a  jaded  fancy,  but  a  young  man  would  have  feared  her. 
She  was  like  some  colossal  statue  fallen  from  the  height  of  a 
Greek  temple,  so  grand  when  seen  afar,  too  roughly  hewn  to 
be  seen  anear.  And  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  her  terrible  beauty 
could  have  stimulated  exhaustion  ;  her  voice  might  charm  the 
deaf;  her  glances  might  put  life  into  the  bones  of  the  dead  ; 
and  therefore  Emile  was  vaguely  reminded  of  one  of  Shakes- 
peare's tragedies — a  wonderful  maze,  in  which  joy  groans, 
and  there  is  something  wild  even  about  love,  and  the  magic 
of  forgiveness  and  the  warmth  of  happiness  succeed  to  cruel 
storms  of  rage.  She  was  a  siren  that  can  both  kiss  and  devour ; 
laugh  like  a  devil,  or  weep  as  angels  can.  She  could  con- 
centrate in  one  instant  all  a  woman's  powers  of  attraction  in 
a  single  effort  (the  sighs  of  melancholy  and  the  charms  of 
maiden's  shyness  alone  excepted),  then  in  a  moment  rise  in 
fury  like  a  nation  in  revolt,  and  tear  herself,  her  passion,  and 
her  lover  in  pieces. 

Dressed  in  red  velvet,  she  trampled  under  her  reckless  feet 
the  stray  flowers  fallen  from  other  heads,  and  held  out  a  salver 
to  the  two  friends,  with  careless  hands.  The  white  arms  stood 
out  in  bold  relief  against  the  velvet.  Proud  of  her  beauty; 
proud  (who  knows?)  of  her  corruption,  she  stood  like  a  queen 
of  pleasure,  like  an  incarnation  of  enjoyment ;  the  enjoyment 
that  comes  of  squandering  the  accumulations  of  three  genera- 
tions ;  that  scoffs  at  its  progenitors,  and  makes  merry  over  a 
corpse;  that  will  dissolve  pearls  and  wreck  thrones,  turn  old 
men  into  boys,  and  make  young  men  prematurely  old ;  enjoy- 


G4  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

ment  only  possible  to  giants  weary  of  their  power,  tormented 
by  reflection,  or  for  whom  strife  has  become  a  plaything. 

"  What  is  your  name  ?  "  asked  Raphael. 

"  Aquilina." 

"  Out  of  Venice  Preserved 7"  exclaimed  Emile. 

"  Yes,"  she  answered.  "  Just  as  a  pope  takes  a  new  name 
when  he  is  exalted  above  all  other  men,  I,  too,  took  another 
name  when  I  raised  myself  above  women's  level." 

"  Then  have  you,  like  your  patron  saint,  a  terrible  and 
noble  lover,  a  conspirator,  who  would  die  for  you  ?"  cried 
Emile  eagerly — this  gleam  of  poetry  had  aroused  his  interest. 

"  Once  I  had,"  she  answered.  "  But  I  had  a  rival,  too,  in 
La  Guillotine.  I  have  worn  something  red  about  me  ever 
since,  lest  any  happiness  should  carry  me  away." 

"Oh,  if  you  are  going  to  get  her  on  to  the  story  of  those 
four  lads  of  La  Rochelle,  she  will  never  get  to  the  end  of  it. 
That's  enough,  Aquilina.  As  if  every  woman  could  not 
bewail  some  lover  or  other,  though  not  every  one  has  the  luck 
to  lose  him  on  the  scaffold,  as  you  have  done.  I  would  a 
great  deal  sooner  see  a  lover  of  mine  in  a  trench  at  the  back 
of  Clamart  than  in  a  rival's  arms." 

All  this  in  the  gentlest  and  most  melodious  accents,  and 
pronounced  by  the  prettiest,  gentlest,  and  most  innocent- 
looking  little  person  that  a  fairy  wand  ever  drew  from  an 
enchanted  eggshell.  She  had  come  up  noiselessly,  and  they 
became  aware  of  a  slender,  dainty  figure,  charmingly  timid 
blue  eyes,  and  white  transparent  brows.  No  ingenue  among 
the  naiads,  a  truant  from  her  river  spring,  could  have  been 
shyer,  whiter,  more  ingenuous  than  this  young  girl,  seemingly 
about  sixteen  years  old,  ignorant  of  evil  and  of  the  storms  of 
life,  and  fresh  from  some  church  in  which  she  must  have 
prayed  the  angels  to  call  her  to  heaven  before  the  time.  Only 
in  Paris  are  such  natures  as  this  to  be  found,  concealing 
depths  of  depravity  behind  a  fair  mask,  and  the  most  artificial 
vires  beneath  a  brow  as  young  and  fair  as  an  opening  flower. 


THE    TALISMAN.  65 

At  first  the  angelic  promise  of  those  soft  lineaments  misled 
the  friends.  Raphael  and  Emile  took  the  coffee  which  she 
poured  into  the  cups  brought  by  Aquilina,  and  began  to  talk 
with  her.  In  the  eyes  of  the  two  poets  she  soon  became 
transformed  into  some  sombre  allegory  of  I  know  not  what 
aspect  of  human  life.  She  opposed  to  the  vigorous  and 
ardent  expression  of  her  commanding  acquaintance  a  revela- 
tion of  heartless  corruption  and  voluptuous  cruelty.  Heed- 
less enough  to  perpetrate  a  crime,  hardy  enough  to  feel  no 
misgivings;  a  pitiless  demon  that  wrings  larger  and  kinder 
natures  with  torments  that  it  is  incapable  of  knowing,  that 
simpers  over  a  traffic  in  love,  sheds  tears  over  a  victim's 
funeral,  and  beams  with  joy  over  the  reading  of  the  will.  A 
poet  might  have  admired  the  magnificent  Aquilina ;  but  the 
winning  Euphrasia  must  be  repulsive  to  every  one — the  first 
was  the  soul  of  sin  ;  the  second,  sin  without  a  soul  in  it. 

"I  should  dearly  like  to  know,"  Emile  remarked  to  this 
pleasing  being,  "  if  you  ever  reflect  upon  your  future?  " 

"My  future!"  she  answered  with  a  laugh.  "What  do 
you  mean  by  my  future  ?  Why  should  I  think  about  some- 
thing that  does  not  exist  as  yet  ?  I  never  look  before  or 
behind.  Isn't  one  day  at  a  time  more  than  I  can  concern 
myself  with  as  it  is?  And  besides,  the  future,  as  we  know, 
means  the  hospital." 

"  How  can  you  foresee  a  future  in  the  hospital,  and  make 
no  effort  to  avert  it  ?  " 

"What  is  there  so  alarming  about  the  hospital  ?"  asked 
the  terrific  Aquilina.  "When  we  are  neither  wives  nor 
mothers,  when  old  age  draws  black  stockings  over  our  limbs, 
sets  wrinkles  on  our  brows,  withers  up  the  woman  in  us,  and 
darkens  the  light  in  our  lover's  eyes,  what  could  we  need 
when  that  comes  to  pass  ?  You  would  look  on  us  then  as 
mere  human  clay ;  we  with  our  habiliments  shall  be  for  you 
like  so  much  mud — worthless,  lifeless,  crumbling  to  pieces, 
going  about  with  the  rustle  of  dead  leaves.  Rags  or  the 


66  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

daintiest  finery  will  be  as  one  to  us  then  ;  the  ambergris  of 
the  boudoir  will  breathe  an  odor  of  death  and  dry  bones ; 
and  suppose  there  is  a  heart  there  in  that  mud,  not  one  of  you 
but  would  make  mock  of  it,  not  so  much  as  a  memory  will 
you  spare  to  us.  Is  not  our  existence  precisely  the  same 
whether  we  live  in  a  fine  mansion  with  lap-dogs  to  tend,  or 
sort  rags  in  a  workhouse  ?  Does  it  make  much  difference 
whether  we  shall  hide  our  gray  heads  beneath  lace  or  a  hand- 
kerchief striped  with  blue  and  red ;  whether  we  sweep  a 
crossing  with  a  birch  broom,  or  the  steps  of  the  Tuileries 
with  satins  ;  whether  we  sit  beside  a  gilded  hearth,  or  cower 
over  the  ashes  in  a  red  earthen  pot ;  whether  we  go  to  the 
opera  or  look  on  in  the  Place  de  Greve  ?  " 

"  Aquilina  mia,  you  have  never  shown  more  sense  than  in 
this  depressing  fit  of  yours,"  Euphrasia  remarked.  "Yes, 
cashmere,  point  d'Alenc.on,  perfumes,  gold,  silks,  luxury, 
everything  that  sparkles,  everything  pleasant,  belongs  to 
youth  alone.  Time  alone  may  show  us  our  folly,  but  good 
fortune  will  acquit  us.  You  are  laughing  at  me,"  she  went 
on,  with  a  malicious  glance  at  the  friends;  "  but  am  I  not 
right?  I  would  sooner  die  of  pleasure  than  of  illness.  I  am 
not  afflicted  with  a  mania  for  perpetuity,  nor  have  I  a  great 
veneration  for  human  nature,  such  as  God  has  made  it.  Give 
me  millions,  and  I  would  squander  them ;  I  should  not  keep 
one  centime  for  the  year  to  come.  Live  to  be  charming  and 
have  power,  that  is  the  decree  of  my  every  heart-beat. 
Society  sanctions  my  life ;  does  it  not  pay  for  my  extrava- 
gances ?  Why  does  Providence  pay  me  every  morning  my 
income,  which  I  spend  every  evening  ?  Why  are  hospitals 
built  for  us  ?  And  Providence  did  not  put  good  and  evil  on 
either  hand  for  us  to  select  what  tires  and  pains  us.  I  should 
be  very  foolish  if  I  did  not  amuse  myself." 

"  And  how  about  others?  "  asked  Emile. 

"Others?     Oh,  well,  they  must  manage  for  themselves.     I 


THE    TALISMAN.  67 

prefer  laughing  at  their  woes  to  weeping  over  my  own.  I 
defy  any  man  to  give  me  the  slightest  uneasiness." 

"What  have  you  suffered  to  make  you  think  like  this?  " 
asked  Raphael. 

"I  myself  have  been  forsaken  for  an  inheritance,"  she 
said,  striking  an  attitude  that  displayed  all  her  charms;  and 
yet  I  had  worked  night  and  day  to  keep  my  love  !  I  am  not 
to  be  gulled  by  any  smile  or  vow,  and  I  have  set  myself  to 
make  one  long  entertainment  of  my  life." 

"But  does  not  happiness  come  from  the  soul  within?" 
cried  Raphael. 

"It  maybe  so,"  Aquilina  answered;  "but  is  it  nothing 
to  be  conscious  of  admiration,  of  flattery ;  to  triumph  over 
other  women,  even  over  the  most  virtuous,  humiliating  them 
before  our  beauty  and  our  splendor?  Not  only  so;  one  day 
of  our  life  is  worth  ten  years  of  middle-class  existence,  and  so 
it  is  all  summed  up." 

"Is  not  a  woman  hateful  without  virtue?"  Emile  said  to 
Raphael. 

Euphrasia's  glance  was  like  a  viper's,  as  she  said  with  an 
irony  in  her  voice  that  cannot  be  rendered — 

"Virtue!  we  leave  that  to  deformity  and  to  ugly  women. 
What  would  the  poor  things  be  without  it  ?  " 

"Hush,  be  quiet,"  Emile  broke  in,  "Don't  talk  about 
something  you  have  never  known." 

"That  I  have  never  known  !  "  Euphrasia  answered.  "You 
give  yourself  for  life  to  some  person  you  abominate ;  you 
must  bring  up  children  who  will  neglect  you,  who  wound 
your  rery  heart,  and  you  must  say,  '  Thank  you  ! '  for  it ;  and 
these  are  the  virtues  you  prescribe  to  women.  And  that  is 
not  enough.  By  way  of  requiting  her  self-denial,  you  must 
come  and  add  to  her  sorrows  by  trying  to  lead  her  astray ; 
and  though  you  are  rebuffed,  she  is  compromised.  A  nice 
life  !  How  far  better  to  keep  one's  freedom,  to  follow  one's 
inclinations  in  love,  and  die  young." 


68  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

"  Have  you  no  fear  of  the  price  to  be  paid  some  day  for 
all  this?" 

"  Even  then,"  she  said,  "  instead  of  mingling  pleasures  and 
troubles,  my  life  will  consist  of  two  separate  parts — a  youth 
of  happiness  is  secure,  and  there  may  come  a  hazy,  uncertain 
old  age,  during  which  I  can  suffer  at  my  leisure." 

"She has  never  loved,"  came  in  the  deep  tones  of  Aquilina's 
voice.  "She  never  went  a  hundred  leagues  to  drink  in  one 
look  and  a  denial  with  untold  raptures.  She  has  not  hung 
her  own  life  on  a  thread,  nor  tried  to  stab  more  than  one  man 
to  save  her  sovereign  lord,  her  king,  her  divinity.  Love,  for 
her,  meant  a  fascinating  colonel." 

"Here  she  is  with  her  La  Rochelle,"  Euphrasia  made 
answer.  "Love  comes  like  the  wind,  no  one  knows  whence. 
And,  for  that  matter,  if  one  of  those  brutes  had  once  fallen 
in  love  with  you,  you  would  hold  sensible  men  in  horror." 

"  Brutes  are  put  out  of  the  question  by  the  Code,"  said  the 
tall,  sarcastic  Aquilina. 

"I  thought  you  had  more  kindness  for  the  army,"  laughed 
Euphrasia. 

"How  happy  they  are  in  their  power  of  dethroning  their 
reason  in  this  way,"  Raphael  exclaimed. 

"Happy!"  asked  Aquilina,  with  a  dreadful  look,  and  a 
smile  full  of  pity  and  terror,  "Ah,  you  do  not  know  what 
it  is  to  be  condemned  to  a  life  of  pleasure,  with  your  dead 
hidden  in  your  heart." 

A  moment's  consideration  of  the  rooms  was  like  a  foretaste 
of  Milton's  Pandemonium.  The  faces  of  those  still  capable 
of  drinking  were  a  hideous  blue  tint,  from  burning  draughts 
of  punch.  Mad  dances  were  kept  up  with  wild  energy, 
excited  laughter  and  outcries  broke  out  like  the  explosion  of 
fireworks.  The  boudoir  and  a  small  adjoining  room  were 
strewn  like  a  battlefield  with  the  insensible  and  incapable. 
Wine,  pleasure,  and  dispute  had  heated  the  atmosphere. 
Wine  and  love,  delirium  and  unconsciousness  possessed  them, 


THE    TALISMAN.  69 

and  were  written  upon  all  faces,  upon  the  furniture ;  were 
expressed  by  the  surrounding  disorder,  and  brought  light 
films  over  the  vision  of  those  assembled,  so  that  the  air  seemed 
full  of  intoxicating  vapor.  A  glittering  dust  arose,  as  in  the 
luminous  paths  made  by  a  ray  of  sunlight,  the  most  bizarre 
forms  flitted  through  it,  grotesque  struggles  were  seen  athwart 
it.  Groups  of  interlaced  figures  blended  with  the  white 
marbles,  the  noble  masterpieces  of  sculpture  that  adorned  the 
rooms. 

Though  the  two  friends  yet  preserved  a  sort  of  fallacious 
clearness  in  their  ideas  and  voices,  a  feeble  appearance  and 
faint  thrill  of  animation,  it  was  yet  almost  impossible  to  dis- 
tinguish what  was  real  among  the  fantastic  absurdities  before 
them,  or  what  foundation  there  was  for  the  impossible  pictures 
that  passed  unceasingly  before  their  weary  eyes.  The 
strangest  phenomena  of  dreams  beset  them,  the  lowering 
heavens,  the  fervid  sweetness  caught  by  faces  in  our  visions, 
and  unheard-of  agility  under  a  load  of  chains, — all  these  so 
vividly,  that  they  took  the  pranks  of  the  orgy  about  them  for 
the  freaks  of  some  nightmare  in  which  all  movement  is  silent, 
and  cries  never  reach  the  ear.  The  valet  de  chambre  suc- 
ceeded just  then,  after  some  little  difficulty,  in  drawing  his 
master  into  the  ante-chamber  to  whisper  to  him — 

"The  neighbors'are  all  at  their  windows,  complaining  of 
the  racket,  sir." 

"If  noise  alarms  them,  why  don't  they  lay  down  straw 
before  their  doors?  "  was  Taillefer's  rejoinder. 

Raphael's  sudden  burst  of  laughter  was  so  unseasonable  and 
abrupt,  that  his  friend  demanded  the  reason  of  his  unseemly 
hilarity. 

"You  will  hardly  understand  me,"  he  replied.  "  In  the 
first  place,  I  must  admit  that  you  stopped  me  on  the  Quai 
Voltaire  just  as  I  was  about  to  throw  myself  into  the  Seine, 
and  you  would  like  to  know,  no  doubt,  my  motives  for  dying. 
And  when  I  proceed  to  tell  you  that  by  an  almost  miraculous 


70  THE    WILD   .-ISS'    SKIN. 

chance  the  most  poetic  memorials  of  the  material  world  had 
but  just  then  been  summed  up  for  me  as  a  symbolical  inter- 
pretation of  human  wisdom  ;  whilst  at  this  minute  the  remains 
of  all  the  intellectual  treasures  ravaged  by  us  at  table  are  com- 
prised in  these  two  women,  the  living  and  authentic  types  of 
folly,  would  you  be  any  the  wiser?  Our  profound  apathy 
towards  men  and  things  supplied  the  half-tones  in  a  crudely 
contrasted  picture  of  two  theories  of  life  so  diametrically 
opposed.  If  you  were  not  drunk,  you  might  perhaps  catch  a 
gleam  of  philosophy  in  this." 

"  And  if  you  had  not  both  feet  on  that  fascinating  Aquilina, 
whose  heavy  breathing  suggests  an  analogy  with  the  sounds 
of  a  storm  about  to  burst,"  replied  Emile,  absently  engaged 
in  the  harmless  amusement  of  winding  and  unwinding  Eu- 
phrasia's  hair,  "  you  would  be  ashamed  of  your  inebriated 
garrulity.  Both  your  systems  can  be  packed  in  a  phrase,  and 
reduced  to  a  single  idea.  The  mere  routine  of  living  brings 
a  stupid  kind  of  wisdom  with  it,  by  blunting  our  intelligence 
with  work;  and  on  the  other  hand,  a  life  passed  in  the  limbo 
of  the  abstract  or  in  the  abysses  of  the  moral  world,  produces 
a  sort  of  wisdom  run  mad.  The  conditions  may  be  summed 
up  in  brief;  we  may  extinguish  emotion,  and  so  live  to  old 
age,  or  we  may  choose  to  die  young  as  martyrs  to  contending 
passions.  And  yet  this  decree  is  at  variance  with  the  tem- 
peraments with  which  we  were  endowed  by  the  bitter  jester 
who  modeled  all  creatures." 

"Idiot!"  Raphael  burst  in.  "Go  on  epitomizing  your- 
self after  that  fashion,  and  you  will  fill  volumes.  If  I  at- 
tempted to  formulate  those  two  ideas  clearly,  I  might  as  well 
say  that  man  is  corrupted  by  the  exercise  of  his  wits,  and 
purified  by  ignorance.  You  are  calling  the  whole  fabric  of 
society  to  account.  But  whether  we  live  with  the  wise  or 
perish  with  the  fool,  isn't  the  result  the  same  sooner  or  later? 
And  have  not  the  prime  constituents  of  the  quintessence  of 


THE    TALISMAN.  71 

both  systems  been  before  expressed  in  a  couple  of  words — 
Carymary,  earymara" 

"  You  make  me  doubt  the  existence  of  a  God,  for  your 
stupidity  is  greater  than  His  power,"  said  Emile.  "Our 
beloved  Rabelais  summed  it  all  up  in  a  shorter  word  than 
your  Carymary,  carymara ;  from  his  'Perhaps'  Montaigne 
derived  his  own  '  What  do  I  know?  '  After  all,  this  last  word 
of  moral  science  is  scarcely  more  than  the  cry  of  Pyrrhus  set 
betwixt  good  and  evil,  or  Buridan's  ass  between  the  two 
measures  of  oats.  But  let  this  everlasting  question  alone, 
resolved  to-day  by  a  'Yes*  and  a  'No.'  What  experience 
did  you  look  to  find  by  a  jump  into  the  Seine  ?  Were  you 
jealous  of  the  hydraulic  machine  on  the  Pont  Notre  Dame?  " 

"Ah,  if  you  but  knew  my  history." 

"Pooh,"  said  Emile  ;  "  I  did  not  think  you  could  be  so 
commonplace;  that  remark  is  hackneyed.  Don't  you  know 
that  every  one  of  us  claims  to  have  suffered  as  no  other 
ever  did?" 

"Ah!  "  Raphael  sighed. 

"What  a  mountebank  art  thou  with  thy  'Ah!'  Look 
here,  now !  Does  some  disease  of  mind  or  body,  by  con- 
tracting your  muscles,  bring  back  of  a  morning  the  wild 
horses  that  tear  you  in  pieces  at  night,  as  with  Damiens  once 
upon  a  time?  Were  you  driven  to  sup  off  your  own  dog  in 
a  garret,  uncooked  and  without  salt  ?  Have  your  children 
ever  cried,  '  I  am  hungry  ?  '  Have  you  sold  your  mistress' 
hair  to  hazard  the  money  at  play?  Have  you  ever  drawn  a 
sham  bill  of  exchange  on  a  fictitious  uncle  at  a  sham  address, 
and  feared  lest  you  should  not  be  in  time  to  take  it  up? 
Come  now,  I  am  attending  !  If  you  were  going  to  drown 
yourself  for  some  woman,  or  by  way  of  a  protest,  or  out  of 
sheer  dulness,  I  disown  you.  Make  your  confession,  and  no 
lies  !  I  don't  at  all  want  a  historical  memoir.  And,  above 
all  things,  be  as  concise  as  your  clouded  intellect  permits ;  I 


72  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

am  as  critical  as  a  professor,  and  as  sleepy  as  a  woman  at  her 
vespers." 

"You  silly  fool  !  "  said  Raphael.  "When  has  not  suffer- 
ing been  keener  for  a  more  susceptible  nature?  Some  day 
when  science  has  attained  to  a  pitch  that  enables  us  to  study 
the  natural  history  of  hearts,  when  they  are  named  and  class- 
ified in  genera,  sub-genera,  and  families ;  into  crustacese, 
fossils,  saurians,  infusoria,  or  whatever  it  is, — then,  my  dear 
fellow,  it  will  be  ascertained  that  there  are  natures  as  tender 
and  fragile  as  flowers,  that  are  broken  by  the  slight  bruises 
that  some  stony  hearts  do  not  even  feel ." 

"  For  pity's  sake,  spare  me  thy  exordium,"  said  Emile,  as, 
half  plaintive,  half  amused,  he  took  Raphael's  hand. 


II. 
A  WOMAN  WITHOUT  A  HEART. 

AFTER  a  moment's  silence,  Raphael  said  with  a  careless 
gesture — 

"  Perhaps  it  is  an  effect  of  the  fumes  of  punch — I  really 
cannot  tell — this  clearness  of  mind  that  enables  me  to  com- 
prise my  whole  life  in  a  single  picture,  where  figures  and  hues, 
lights,  shades,  and  half-tones  are  faithfully  rendered.  I 
should  not  have  been  so  surprised  at  this  poetical  play  of 
imagination  if  it  were  not  accompanied  with  a  sort  of  scorn 
for  my  past  joys  and  sorrows.  Seen  from  afar,  my  life 
appears  to  contract  by  some  mental  process.  That  long,  slow 
agony  of  ten  years'  duration  can  be  brought  to  memory  to- 
day in  some  few  phrases,  in  which  pain  is  resolved  into  a 
mere  idea,  and  pleasure  becomes  a  philosophical  reflection. 
Instead  of  feeling  things,  I  weigh  and  consider  them " 

"You  are  as  tiresome  as  the  explanation  of  an  amend- 
ment," cried  Emile. 

"  Very  likely,"  said  Raphael  submissively.  "  I  spare  you 
the  first  seventeen  years  of  my  life  for  fear  of  abusing  a  lis- 
tener's patience.  Till  that  time,  like  you  and  thousands  of 
others,  I  had  lived  my  life  at  school  or  the  Lyceum,  with  its 
imaginary  troubles  and  genuine  happinesses,  which  are  so 
pleasant  to  look  back  upon.  Our  jaded  palates  still  crave 
that  Lenten  fare,  so  long  as  we  have  not  tried  it  afresh.  It 
was  a  pleasant  life,  with  the  tasks  that  we  thought  so  contempt- 
ible, but  which  taught  us  application  for  all  that." 

"Let  the  drama  begin,"  said  Emile,  half-plaintively,  half- 
comically. 

"  When  I  left  school,"  Raphael  went  on,  with  a  gesture 
that  claimed  the  right  of  speaking,  "  my  father  submitted  me 

(73) 


74  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

to  a  strict  discipline  ;  he  installed  me  in  a  room  near  his  own 
study,  and  I  had  to  rise  at  five  in  the  morning  and  be  in  bed 
by  nine  at  night.  He  meant  me  to  take  my  law  studies  seri- 
ously. I  attended  the  schools,  and  read  with  an  advocate  as 
well ;  but  my  lectures  and  work  were  so  narrowly  circum- 
scribed by  the  laws  of  time  and  space,  and  my  father  required 
such  a  strict  account  of  my  doings,  at  dinner,  that " 

"What  is  this  to  me?"  asked  Emile. 

"  The  devil  take  you  !  "  said  Raphael.  "  How  are  you  to 
enter  into  my  feelings  if  I  do  not  relate  the  facts  that  insensi- 
bly shaped  my  character,  made  me  timid,  and  prolonged  the 
period  of  youthful  simplicity?  In  this  manner  I  cowered 
under  as  strict  a  despotism  as  a  monarch's  till  I  came  of  age. 
To  depict  the  tedium  of  my  life,  it  will  be  perhaps  enough  to 
portray  my  father  for  you.  He  was  tall,  thin,  and  slight, 
with  a  hatchet  face,  and  pale  complexion  ;  a  man  of  few 
words,  fidgety  as  an  old  maid,  exacting  as  a  senior  clerk. 
His  paternal  solicitude  hovered  over  my  merriment  and  gleeful 
thoughts,  and  seemed  to  cover  them  with  a  leaden  pall.  Any 
effusive  demonstration  on  my  part  was  received  by  him  as  a 
childish  absurdity.  I  was  far  more  afraid  of  him  than  I  had 
been  of  any  of  our  masters  at  school. 

"I  seem  to  see  him  before  me  at  this  moment.  In  his 
chestnut-brown  frock-coat  he  looked  like  a  red  herring 
wrapped  up  in  the  cover  of  a  pamphlet,  and  he  held  him- 
self as  erect  as  an  Easter  candle.  But  I  was  fond  of  my  father, 
and  at  heart  he  was  right  enough.  Perhaps  we  never  hate 
severity  when  it  has  its  source  in  greatness  of  character  and 
pure  morals,  and  is  skilfully  tempered  with  kindness.  My 
father,  it  is  true,  never  left  me  a  moment  to  myself,  and  only 
when  I  was  twenty  years  old  gave  me  so  much  as  ten  francs 
of  my  own,  ten  knavish  prodigals  of  francs,  such  a  hoard  as 
I  had  long  vainly  desired,  which  set  me  a-dreaming  of  unutter- 
able felicity;  yet,  for  all  that,  he  sought  to  procure  relaxations 
for  me.  When  he  had  promised  me  a  treat  months  before- 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  75 

hand,  he  would  take  me  to  Les  Bouffons,  or  to  a  concert  or 
ball,  where  I  hoped  to  find  a  mistress.  A  mistress  !  that 
meant  independence.  But  bashful  and  timid  as  I  was,  knowing 
nobody,  and  ignorant  of  the  dialect  of  drawing-rooms,  I 
always  came  back  as  awkward  as  ever,  and  swelling  with 
unsatisfied  desires,  to  be  put  in  harness  like  a  troop  horse 
next  day  by  my  father,  and  to  return  with  morning  to  my 
advocate,  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and  the  law.  To  have 
swerved  from  the  straight  course  which  my  father  had  mapped 
out  for  me  would  have  drawn  down  his  wrath  upon  me  ; 
at  my  first  delinquency,  he  threatened  to  ship  me  off  as  a 
cabin-boy  to  the  Antilles.  A  dreadful  shiver  ran  through 
me  if  I  had  ventured  to  spend  a  couple  of  hours  in  some 
pleasure  party. 

"  Imagine  the  most  wandering  imagination  and  passionate 
temperament,  the  tenderest  soul  and  most  artistic  nature, 
dwelling  continually  in  the  presence  of  the  most  flint-hearted, 
atrabilious,  and  frigid  man  on  earth ;  think  of  me  as  a  young 
girl  married  to  a  skeleton,  and  you  will  understand  the  life 
whose  curious  scenes  can  only  be  a  hearsay  tale  to  you ;  the 
plans  for  running  away  that  perished  at  the  sight  of  my  father, 
the  despair  soothed  by  slumber,  the  dark  broodings  charmed 
away  by  music.  I  breathed  my  sorrows  forth  in  melodies. 
Beethoven  or  Mozart  would  keep  my  confidences  sacred. 
Nowadays,  I  smile  at  recollections  of  the  scruples  which  bur- 
dened my  conscience  at  that  epoch  of  innocence  and  virtue. 

"  If  I  set  foot  in  a  restaurant,  I  gave  myself  up  for  lost; 
my  fancy  led  me  to  look  on  a  cafe  as  a  disreputable  haunt, 
where  men  lost  their  characters  and  embarrassed  their  fortunes ; 
as  for  engaging  in  play,  I  had  not  the  money  to  risk.  Oh,  if 
I  needed  to  send  you  to  sleep,  I  would  tell  you  about  one  of 
the  most  frightful  pleasures  of  my  life,  one  of  those  pleasures 
with  fangs  that  bury  themselves  in  the  heart,  as  the  branding- 
iron  enters  the  convict's  shoulder.  I  was  at  a  ball  at  the 
house  of  the  Due  de  Navarreins,  my  father's  cousin.  But  to 


76  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIM 

make  my  position  the  more  perfectly  clear,  you  must  know 
that  I  wore  a  threadbare  coat,  ill-fitting  shoes,  a  tie  fit  for  a 
stableman,  and  a  soiled  pair  of  gloves.  I  shrank  into  a  corner 
to  eat  ices  and  watch  the  pretty  faces  at  my  leisure.  My 
father  noticed  me.  Actuated  by  some  motive  that  I  did  not 
fathom,  so  dumbfounded  was  I  by  this  act  of  confidence,  he 
handed  me  his  keys  and  purse  to  keep.  Ten  paces  away  some 
men  were  gambling.  I  heard  the  rattling  of  gold ;  I  was 
twenty  years  old ;  I  longed  to  be  steeped  for  one  whole  day 
in  the  follies  of  my  time  of  life.  It  was  a  license  of  the  im- 
agination that  would  find  a  parallel  neither  in  the  freaks  of 
courtesans,  nor  in  the  dreams  of  young  girls.  For  a  year 
past  I  had  beheld  myself  well  dressed,  in  a  carriage,  with  a 
pretty  woman  by  my  side,  playing  the  great  lord,  dining  at 
Very's,  deciding  not  to  go  back  home  till  the  morrow  ;  but 
was  prepared  for  my  father  with  a  plot  more  intricate  than 
the  Marriage  of  Figaro,  which  he  could  not  possibly  have 
unraveled.  All  this  bliss  would  cost,  I  estimated,  fifty  crowns. 
Was  it  not  the  artless  idea  of  playing  truant  that  still  had 
charms  for  me  ? 

"  I  went  into  a  small  adjoining  room,  and  when  alone 
counted  my  father's  money  with  smarting  eyes  and  trembling 
fingers — a  hundred  crowns  !  The  joys  of  my  escapade  rose 
before  me  at  the  thought  of  the  amount ;  joys  that  flitted 
about  me  like  Macbeth's  witches  around  their  caldron  ;  joys 
how  alluring !  how  thrilling  !  how  delicious  !  I  became  a 
deliberate  rascal.  I  heeded  neither  my  tingling  ears  nor 
the  violent  beating  of  my  heart,  but  took  out  two  twenty-franc 
pieces  that  I  seem  to  see  yet.  The  dates  had  been  erased, 
and  Bonaparte's  head  simpered  upon  them.  After  I  had 
put  back  the  purse  in  my  pocket,  I  returned  to  a  gaming-table 
with  the  two  pieces  of  gold  in  the  palms  of  my  damp  hands, 
prowling  about  the  players  like  a  sparrow-hawk  round  a  coop 
of  chickens.  Tormented  by  inexpressible  terror,  I  flung  a 
sudden  clairvoyant  glance  round  me,  and  feeling  quite  sure 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  77 

that  I  was  seen  by  none  of  my  acquaintances,  betted  on  a 
stout,  jovial  little  man,  heaping  upon  his  head  more  prayers 
and  vows  than  are  put  up  during  two  or  three  storms  at  sea. 
Then  with  an  intuitive  scoundrelism,  or  Machiavelism,  sur- 
prising in  one  of  my  age,  I  went  and  stood  in  the  door,  and 
looked  about  me  in  the  rooms,  though  I  saw  nothing ;  for 
both  mind  and  eyes  hovered  about  that  fateful  green  cloth. 

"  That  evening  fixes  the  date  of  a  first  observation  of  a 
physiological  kind ;  to  it  I  owe  a  kind  of  insight  into  certain 
mysteries  of  our  double  nature  that  I  have  since  been  enabled 
to  penetrate.  I  had  my  back  turned  on  the  table  where  my 
future  felicity  lay  at  stake,  a  felicity  but  so  much  the  more  in- 
tense that  it  was  criminal.  Between  me  and  the  players  stood  a 
wall  of  onlookers  some  five  deep,  who  were  chatting ;  the  mur- 
mur of  voices  drowned  the  clinking  of  gold,  which  mingled 
in  the  sounds  sent  up  by  this  orchestra ;  yet,  despite  all 
obstacles,  I  distinctly  heard  the  words  of  the  two  players  by 
a  gift  accorded  to  the  passions,  which  enables  them  to  annihi- 
late time  and  space.  I  saw  the  points  they  made ;  I  knew 
which  of  the  two  turned  up  the  king  as  well  as  if  I  had  actu- 
ally seen  the  cards ;  at  a  distance  of  ten  paces,  in  short,  the 
fortunes  of  play  blanched  my  face. 

"  My  father  suddenly  went  by,  and  then  I  knew  what  the 
Scripture  meant  by  'The  Spirit  of  God  passed  before  his  face.' 
I  had  won.  I  slipped  through  the  crowd  of  men  who  had 
gathered  about  the  players  with  the  quickness  of  an  eel  escap- 
ing through  a  broken  mesh  in  a  net.  My  nerves  thrilled  with 
joy  instead  of  anguish.  I  felt  like  some  criminal  on  the  way 
to  torture  released  by  a  chance  meeting  with  the  king.  It 
happened  that  a  man  with  a  decoration  found  himself  short 
by  forty  francs.  Uneasy  eyes  suspected  me ;  I  turned  pale, 
and  drops  of  perspiration  stood  on  my  forehead.  I  was  well 
punished,  I  thought,  for  having  robbed  my  father.  Then  the 
kind  little  stout  man  said,  in  a  voice  like  an  angel's  surely, 
'All  these  gentlemen  have  paid  their  stakes,'  and  put  down 
6 


78  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

the  forty  francs  himself.  I  raised  my  head  in  triumph  upon 
the  players.  After  I  had  returned  the  money  I  had  taken 
from  it  to  my  father's  purse,  I  left  my  winnings  with  that 
honest  and  worthy  gentleman,  who  continued  to  win.  As 
soon  as  1  found  myself  possessed  of  a  hundred  and  sixty 
francs,  I  wrapped  them  up  in  my  handkerchief,  so  that  they 
could  neither  move  nor  rattle  on  the  way  back ;  and  I  played 
no  more. 

"  '  What  were  you  doing  at  the  card-table?'  said  my  father 
as  we  stepped  into  the  carriage. 

"  '  I  was  looking  on,'  I  answered,  trembling. 

"  '  But  it  would  have  been  nothing  out  of  the  common  if 
you  had  been  prompted  by  self-love  to  put  some  money  down 
on  the  table.  In  the  eyes  of  men  of  the  world  you  are  quite 
old  enough  to  assume  the  right  to  commit  such  follies.  So  I 
should  have  pardoned  you,  Raphael,  if  you  had  made  use  of 
my  purse.' 

"I  did  not  answer.  When  we  reached  home,  I  returned 
the  keys  and  the  money  to  my  father.  As  he  entered  his 
study,  he  emptied  out  his  purse  on  the  mantelpiece,  counted 
the  money,  and  turned  to  me  with  a  kindly  look,  saying, 
with  more  or  less  long  and  significant  pauses  between  each 
phrase — 

"  '  My  boy,  you  are  very  nearly  twenty  now.  I  am  satis- 
fied with  you.  You  ought  to  have  an  allowance,  if  only  to 
teach  you  how  to  lay  it  out,  and  to  gain  some  acquaintance 
with  everyday  business.  Henceforward  I  shall  let  you  have 
a  hundred  francs  each  month.  Here  is  your  first  quarter's 
income  for  this  year,'  he  added,  fingering  a  pile  of  gold,  as  if 
to  make  sure  that  the  amount  was  correct.  '  Do  what  you 
please  with  it." 

"I  confess  that  I  was  ready  to  fling  myself  at  his  feet,  to 
tell  him  that  I  was  a  thief,  a  scoundrel,  and,  worse  than  all,  a 
liar  !  But  a  feeling  of  shame  held  me  back.  I  went  up  to 
him  for  an  embrace,  but  he  gently  pushed  me  away. 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A  HEART.  79 

"  'You  are  a  man  now,  my  child,'  lie  said.  '  What  I  have 
just  done  was  a  very  proper  and  simple  thing,  for  which  there 
is  no  need  to  thank  me.  If  I  have  any  claim  to  your  grati- 
tude, Raphael,'  he  went  on  in  a  kind  but  dignified  way,  'it 
is  because  I  have  preserved  your  youth  from  the  evils  that 
destroy  young  men  in  Paris.  We  will  be  two  friends  hence- 
forth. In  a  year's  time  you  will  be  a  doctor  of  law.  Not 
without  some  hardship  and  privation  you  have  acquired  the 
sound  knowledge  and  the  love  of,  and  application  to,  work 
that  is  indispensable  to  public  men.  You  must  learn  to  know 
me,  Raphael.  I  do  not  want  to  make  either  an  advocate  or 
a  notary  of  you,  but  a  statesman,  who  shall  be  the  pride  of 
our  humble  house.  Good-night,'  he  added. 

"  From  that  day  my  father  took  me  fully  into  confidence. 
I  was  an  only  son  ;  and,  ten  years  before,  I  had  lost  my 
mother.  In  time  past  my  father,  the  head  of  a  historic  family 
remembered  even  now  in  Auvergne,  had  come  to  Paris  to 
fight  against  his  evil  star,  dissatisfied  at  the  prospect  of  tilling 
the  soil,  with  his  useless  sword  by  his  side.  He  was  endowed 
with  the  shrewdness  that  gives  the  men  of  the  south  of  France 
a  certain  ascendancy  when  energy  goes  with  it.  Almost 
unaided,  he  made  a  position  for  himself  near  the  fountain  of 
power.  The  Revolution  brought  a  reverse  of  fortune,  but  he 
had  managed  to  marry  an  heiress  of  good  family,  and,  in  the 
time  of  the  Empire,  appeared  to  be  on  the  point  of  restoring 
to  our  house  its  ancient  splendor. 

"  The  Restoration,  while  it  brought  back  considerable  prop- 
erty to  my  mother,  was  my  father's  ruin.  He  had  formerly 
purchased  several  estates  abroad,  conferred  by  the  Emperor 
on  his  generals ;  and  now  for  ten  years  he  struggled  with 
liquidators,  diplomatists,  and  Prussian  and  Bavarian  courts 
of  law,  over  the  disputed  possession  of  these  unfortunate 
endowments.  My  father  plunged  me  into  the  intricate 
labyrinths  of  law  proceedings  on  which  our  future  depended. 
We  might  be  compelled  to  return  the  rents,  as  well  as  the 


80  77/7?    WILD  ASS'  SKIN. 

proceeds  arising  from  sales  of  timber  made  during  the  years 
1814  to  1817;  in  that  case  my  mother's  property  would 
have  barely  saved  our  credit.  So  it  fell  out  that  the  day 
on  which  my  father  in  a  fashion  emancipated  me,  brought 
me  under  a  most  galling  yoke.  I  entered  on  a  conflict  like 
a  battlefield;  I  must  work  day  and  night;  seek  interviews 
with  statesmen,  surprise  their  convictions,  try  to  interest  them 
in  our  affairs,  and  gain  them  over,  with  their  wives  and  ser- 
vants, and  their  very  clogs  ;  and  all  this  abominable  business 
had  to  take  the  form  of  pretty  speeches  and  polite  attentions. 
Then  I  knew  the  mortifications  that  had  left  their  blighting 
traces  on  my  father's  face.  For  about  a  year  I  led  outwardly 
the  life  of  a  man  of  the  world,  but  enormous  labors  lay 
beneath  the  surface  of  gadding  about,  and  eager  efforts  to 
attach  myself  to  influential  kinsmen,  or  to  people  likely  to  be 
useful  to  us.  My  relaxations  were  lawsuits,  and  memorials 
still  furnished  the  staple  of  my  conversation.  Hitherto  my 
life  had  been  blameless,  from  the  sheer  impossibility  of  in- 
dulging the  desires  of  youth  ;  but  now  I  became  my  own 
master,  and  in  dread  of  involving  us  both  in  ruin  by  some 
piece  of  negligence,  I  did  not  dare  to  allow  myself  any 
pleasure  or  expenditure. 

"  While  we  are  young,  and  before  the  world  has  rubbed 
off  the  delicate  bloom  from  our  sentiments,  the  freshness  of 
our  impressions,  the  noble  purity  of  conscience  which  will 
never  allow  us  to  palter  with  evil,  the  sense  of  duty  is  very 
strong  within  us,  the  voice  of  honor  clamors  within  us,  and 
we  are.  open  and  straightforward.  At  that  time  I  was  all 
these  things.  I  wished  to  justify  my  father's  confidence  in 
me.  But  lately  I  would  have  stolen  a  paltry  sum  from 
him,  with  secret  delight ;  but  now  that  I  shared  the  burden 
of  his  affairs,  of  his  name  and  of  his  house,  I  would  secretly 
have  given  up  my  fortune  and  my  hopes  for  him,  as  I  was 
sacrificing  my  pleasures,  and  even  have  been  glad  of  the 
sacrifice  !  So  when  Mde.  Villele  exhumed,  for  our  special 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A    HEART.  81 

benefit,  an  imperial  decree  concerning  forfeitures,  and  had 
ruined  us,  I  authorized  the  sale  of  my  property,  only  retain- 
ing an  island  in  the  middle  of  the  Loire,  where  my  mother  was 
buried.  Perhaps  arguments  and  evasions,  philosophical, 
philanthropic,  and  political  considerations  would  not  fail  me 
now,  to  hinder  the  perpetration  of  what  my  solicitor  termed  a 
folly ;  but  at  one-and-twenty,  I  repeat,  we  are  all  aglow  with 
generosity  and  affection.  The  tears  that  stood  in  my  father's 
eyes  were  to  me  the  most  splendid  of  fortunes,  and  the  thought 
of  those  tears  has  often  soothed  my  sorrow.  Ten  months  after 
he  had  paid  his  creditors,  my  father  died  of  grief;  I  was 
his  idol,  and  he  had  ruined  me  !  The  thought  killed  him. 
Towards  the  end  of  the  autumn  of  1826,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 
two,  I  was  the  sole  mourner  at  his  graveside — the  grave  of 
my  father  and  my  earliest  friend.  Not  many  young  men  have 
found  themselves  alone  with  their  thoughts  as  they  followed 
a  hearse,  or  have  seen  themselves  lost  in  crowded  Paris, 
and  without  money  or  prospects.  Orphans  rescued  by  public 
charity  have  at  any  rate  the  future  of  the  battlefield  before 
them,  and  find  a  shelter  in  some  institution  and  a  father  in 
the  government  or  in  the  agent  of  the  King.  I  had  nothing. 

"  Three  months  later,  an  agent  made  over  to  me  eleven 
hundred  and  twelve  francs,  the  net  proceeds  of  the  winding 
up  of  my  father's  affairs.  Our  creditors  had  driven  us  to  sell 
our  furniture.  From  my  childhood  I  had  been  used  to  set  a 
high  value  on  the  articles  of  luxury  about  us,  and  I  could  not 
help  showing  my  astonishment  at  the  sight  of  this  meagre 
balance. 

"  '  Oh,  rococo,  all  of  it !  '  said  the  auctioneer.  A  terrible 
word  that  fell  like  a  blight  on  the  sacred  memories  of 
my  childhood,  and  dispelled  my  earliest  illusions,  the 
dearest  of  all.  My  entire  fortune  was  comprised  in  this 
account  rendered,  my  future  lay  in  a  linen  bag  with  eleven 
hundred  and  twelve  francs  in  it,  human  society  stood  be- 
fore me  in  the  person  of  an  auctioneer's  clerk,  who  kept 


82  THE    WILD   ASS^   SKIN. 

his  hat  on  while  he  spoke.  Jonathan,  an  old  servant  who 
was  much  attached  to  me,  and  whom  my  mother  had  form- 
erly pensioned  with  an  annuity  of  four  hundred  francs, 
spoke  to  me  as  I  was  leaving  the  house  that  I  had  so  often 
gaily  left  for  a  drive  in  my  childhood. 

"  '  Be  very  economical,  Monsieur  Raphael !  ' 

The  good  fellow  was  crying. 

"  Such  were  the  events,  dear  Emile,  that  ruled  my  desti- 
nies, moulded  my  character,  and  set  me,  while  still  young,  in 
an  utterly  false  social  position,"  said  Raphael  after  a  pause. 
"  Family  ties,  weak  ones,  it  is  true,  bound  me  to  a  few 
wealthy  houses,  but  my  own  pride  would  have  kept  me  aloof 
from  them  if  contempt  and  indifference  had  not  shut  their 
doors  to  me  in  the  first  place.  I  was  related  to  people  who 
were  very  influential,  and  who  lavished  their  patronage  on 
strangers ;  but  I  found  neither  relations  nor  patrons  in  them. 
Continually  circumscribed  in  my  affections,  they  recoiled 
upon  me.  Unreserved  and  simple  by  nature,  I  must  have 
appeared  frigid  and  sophisticated.  My  father's  discipline 
had  destroyed  all  confidence  in  myself.  I  was  shy  and 
awkward  ;  I  could  not  believe  that  my  opinion  carried  any 
weight  whatever;  I  took  no  pleasure  in  myself;  I  thought 
myself  ugly,  and  was  ashamed  to  meet  my  own  eyes.  In 
spite  of  the  inward  voice  that  must  be  the  stay  of  a  man  with 
anything  in  him,  in  all  his  struggles,  the  voice  that  cries, 
'  Courage  !  Go  forward  !  '  in  spite  of  sudden  revelations  of 
my  own  strength  in  my  solitude  ;  in  spite  of  the  hopes  that 
thrilled  me  as  I  compared  new  works,  that  the  public  admired 
so  much,  with  the  schemes  that  hovered  in  my  brain, — in 
spite  of  all  this,  I  had  a  childish  mistrust  of  myself. 

"  An  overweening  ambition  preyed  upon  me;  I  believed 
that  I  was  meant  for  great  things,  and  yet  I  felt  myself  to 
be  nothing.  I  had  need  of  other  men,  and  I  was  friendless. 
I  found  I  must  make  my  way  in  the  world,  where  I  was 
quite  alone,  and  bashful,  rather  than  afraid. 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  S:j 

"  All  through  the  year  in  which,  by  my  father's  wish,  I 
threw  myself  into  the  whirlpool  of  fashionable  society,  I 
came  away  with  an  inexperienced  heart,  and  fresh  in  mind. 
Like  every  grown  child,  I  sighed  in  secret  for  a  love  affair. 
I  met,  among  young  men  of  my  own  age,  a  set  of  swag- 
gerers who  held  their  heads  high,  and  talked  about  trifles 
as  they  seated  themselves  without  a  tremor  beside  women  who 
inspired  awe  in  me.  They  chattered  nonsense,  sucked  the 
heads  of  their  canes,  gave  themselves  affected  airs,  appro- 
priated the  fairest  women,  and  laid,  or  pretended  that  they 
had  laid  their  heads  on  every  pillow.  Pleasure,  seemingly, 
was  at  their  beck  and  call ;  they  looked  on  the  most  virtuous 
and  prudish  as  an  easy  prey,  ready  to  surrender  at  a  word, 
at  the  slightest  impudent  gesture  or  insolent  look.  I  declare, 
on  my  soul  and  conscience,  that  the  attainment  of  power,  or 
of  a  great  name  in  literature,  seemed  to  me  an  easier  victory 
than  a  success  with  some  young,  witty,  and  gracious  lady  of 
high  degree. 

"  So  I  found  the  tumult  of  my  heart,  my  feelings,  and  my 
creeds  all  at  variance  with  the  axioms  of  society.  I  had 
plenty  of  audacity  in  my  character,  but  none  in  my  manner. 
Later,  I  found  out  that  women  did  not  like  to  be  implored. 
I  have  from  afar  adored  many  a  one  to  whom  I  devoted  a 
soul  proof  against  all  tests,  a  heart  to  break,  energy  that 
shrank  from  no  sacrifice  and  from  no  torture ;  they  accepted 
fools  whom  I  would  not  have  engaged  as  hall  porters.  How 
often,  mute  and  motionless,  have  I  not  admired  the  lady  of 
my  dreams,  swaying  in  the  dance ;  given  up  my  life  in 
thought  to  one  eternal  caress,  expressed  all  my  hopes  in  a 
look,  and  laid  before  her,  in  my  rapture,  a  young  man's  love, 
which  should  outstrip  all  fables.  At  some  moments  I  was 
ready  to  barter  my  whole  life  for  one  single  night.  Well,  as 
I  could  never  find  a  listener  for  my  impassioned  proposals, 
eyes  to  rest  my  own  upon,  a  heart  made  for  my  heart,  I  lived 
on  in  all  the  sufferings  of  impotent  force  that  consumes 


84  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

itself;  lacking  either  opportunity  or  courage  or  experience. 
I  despaired,  maybe,  of  making  myself  understood,  or  I  feared 
to  be  understood  but  too  well ;  and  yet  the  storm  within  me 
was  ready  to  burst  at  every  chance  courteous  look.  In  spite 
of  my  readiness  to  take  the  semblance  of  interest  in  look  or 
word  for  a  tenderer  solicitude,  I  dared  neither  to  speak  nor  to 
be  silent  seasonably.  My  words  grew  insignificant,  and  my 
silence  stupid,  by  sheer  stress  of  emotion.  I  was  too  ingen- 
uous, no  doubt,  for  that  artificial  life,  led  by  candle-light, 
where  every  thought  is  expressed  in  conventional  phrases,  or 
by  words  that  fashion  dictates ;  and  not  only  so,  I  had  not 
learned  how  to  employ  speech  that  says  nothing,  and  silence 
that  says  a  great  deal.  In  short,  I  concealed  the  fires  that 
consumed  me,  and  with  such  a  soul  as  women  wish  to  find, 
with  all  the  elevation  of  soul  that  they  long  for,  and  a  mettle 
that  fools  plume  themselves  upon,  all  women  have  been 
cruelly  treacherous  to  me. 

"  So  in  my  simplicity  I  admired  the  heroes  of  this  set  when 
they  bragged  about  their  conquests,  and  never  suspected  them 
of  lying.  No  doubt  it  was  a  mistake  to  wish  for  a  love  that 
springs  for  a  word's  sake ;  to  expect  to  find  in  the  heart  of  a 
vain,  frivolous  woman,  greedy  for  luxury  and  intoxicated  with 
vanity,  the  great  sea  of  passion  that  surged  tempestuously 
in  my  own  breast.  Oh  !  to  feel  that  you  were  born  to  love, 
to  make  some  woman's  happiness,  and  yet  to  find  not  one, 
not  even  a  noble  and  courageous  Marceline,  not  so  much  as 
an  old  marquise  !  Oh  !  to  carry  a  treasure  in  your  wallet, 
and  not  find  even  some  child,  or  inquisitive  young  girl,  to 
admire  it !  In  my  despair  I  often  wished  to  kill  myself." 

"  Finely  tragical  to-night!  "  cried  Emile. 

"Let  me  pass  sentence  on  my  life,"  Raphael  answered. 
"  If  your  friendship  is  not  strong  enough  to  bear  with  my 
elegy,  if  you  cannot  put  up  with  half  an  hour's  tedium  for 
my  sake,  go  to  sleep  !  But,  then,  never  ask  again  for  the 
reason  of  the  suicide  that  hangs  over  me,  that  comes  nearer 


A    WOMAN    WITHOUT  A   HEART.  85 

and  calls  to  me,  that  I  bow  myself  before.  If  you  are  to 
judge  a  man,  you  must  know  his  secret  thoughts,  sorrows,  and 
feelings;  to  know  merely  the  outward  events  of  a  man's  life 
would  only  serve  to  make  a  chronological  table — a  fool's 
notion  of  history." 

Emile  was  so  much  struck  with  the  bitter  tones  in  which 
these  words  were  spoken,  that  he  began  to  pay  close  attention 
to  Raphael,  whom  he  watched  with  a  bewildered  expression. 

"Now,"  continued  the  speaker,  "all  these  things  that  be- 
fell me  appear  in  a  new  light.  The  sequence  of  events  that 
I  once  thought  so  unfortunate  created  the  splendid  powers  of 
which,  later,  I  became  so  proud.  If  I  may  believe  you,  I 
possess  the  power  of  readily  expressing  my  thoughts,  and  I 
could  take  a  forward  place  in  the  great  field  of  knowledge ; 
and  is  not  this  the  result  of  scientific  curiosity,  of  excessive 
application,  and  a  love  of  reading  which  possessed  me  from 
the  age  of  seven  till  my  entry  on  life?  The  very  neglect  in 
which  I  was  left,  and  the  consequent  habits  of  self-repression 
and  self-concentration  ;  did  not  these  things  teach  me  how  to 
consider  and  reflect?  Nothing  in  me  was  squandered  in 
obedience  to  the  exactions  of  the  world,  which  humble  the 
proudest  soul  and  reduce  it  to  a  mere  husk;  and  was  it  not 
this  very  fact  that  refined  the  emotional  part  of  my  nature 
till  it  became  the  perfected  instrument  of  a  loftier  purpose 
than  passionate  desires  ?  I  remember  watching  the  women 
who  mistook  me  with  all  the  insight  of  contemned  love. 

"  I  can  see  now  that  my  natural  sincerity  must  have  been 
displeasing  to  them  ;  women,  perhaps,  even  require  a  little 
hypocrisy.  And  I,  who  in  the  same  hour's  space  am  alter- 
nately a  man  and  a  child,  frivolous  and  thoughtful,  free  from 
bias  and  brimful  of  superstition,  and  oftentimes  myself  as 
much  a  woman  as  an-y  of  them  ;  how  should  they  do  other- 
wise than  take  my  simplicity  for  cynicism,  my  innocent  can- 
dor for  impudence  ?  They  found  my  knowledge  tiresome  ; 
my  feminine  languor,  weakness.  I  was  held  to  be  listless  and 


86  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

incapable  of  love  or  of  steady  purpose  ;  a  too  active  imagina- 
tion, that  curse  of  poets,  was  no  doubt  the  cause.  My  silence 
was  idiotic  ;  and  as  I  dare  say  I  alarmed  them  by  my  efforts 
to  please,  women  one  and  all  have  condemned  me.  With 
tears  and  mortification,  I  bowed  before  the  decision  of  the 
world;  but  my  distress  was  not  barren.  I  determined  to  re- 
venge myself  on  society  ;  I  would  dominate  the  feminine 
intellect,  and  so  have  the  feminine  soul  at  my  mercy ;  all  eyes 
should  be  fixed  upon  me,  when  the  servant  at  the  door 
announced  my  name.  I  had  determined  from  my  childhood 
that  I  would  be  a  great  man  ;  I  said  with  Andre  Chenier,  as 
I  struck  my  forehead,  '  There  is  something  underneath  that !  ' 
I  felt,  I  believed,  the  thought  within  me  that  I  must  express, 
the  system  I  must  establish,  the  knowledge  I  must  interpret. 
"Let  me  pour  out  my  follies,  dear  Emile;  to-day  I  am 
barely  twenty-six  years  old,  certain  of  dying  unrecognized, 
and  I  have  never  been  the  lover  of  the  woman  I  dreamed  of 
possessing.  Have  we  not  all  of  us,  more  or  less,  believed  in 
the  reality  of  a  thing  because  we  wished  it  ?  I  would  never 
have  a  young  man  for  my  friend  who  did  not  place  himself 
in  dreams  upon  a  pedestal,  weave  crowns  for  his  head,  and 
have  complaisant  mistresses.  I  myself  would  often  be  a  gen- 
eral, nay,  emperor  ;  I  have  been  a  Byron,  and  then  a  nobody. 
After  this  sport  on  these  pinnacles  of  human  achievement,  I 
became  aware  that  all  the  difficulties  and  steeps  of  life  were 
yet  to  face.  My  exuberant  self-esteem  came  to  my  aid  ;  I  had 
that  intense  belief  in  my  destiny,  which  perhaps  amounts  to 
genius  in  those  who  will  not  permit  themselves  to  be  distracted 
by  contact  with  the  world,  as  sheep  that  leave  their  wool  on 
the  briars  of  every  thicket  they  pass  by.  I  meant  to  cover 
myself  with  glory,  and  to  work  in  silence  for  the  mistress  I 
hoped  to  have  one  day.  Woman  for  me  was  resolved  into  a 
single  type,  and  this  woman  I  hoped  to  meet  in  the  first  that 
met  my  eyes ;  but  in  each  and  all  I  saw.  a  queen,  and  as  queens 
must  make  the  first  advances  to  their  lovers,  they  must  draw 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A    HEART.  87 

near  to  me — to  me,  so  sickly,  shy,  and  poor.  For  her,  who 
should  take  pity  on  me,  my  heart  held  in  store  such  gratitude 
over  and  beyond  love,  that  I  had  worshipped  her  her  whole 
life  long.  Later,  my  observations  have  taught  me  bitter 
truths. 

"  In  this  way,  dear  Emile,  I  ran  the  risk  of  remaining  com- 
panionless  for  good.     The  incomprehensible  bent  of  women's 
minds  appears  to  lead  them  to  see  nothing  but  the  weak  points 
in  a  clever  man,  and  the  strong  points  of  a  fool.    They  feel  the 
liveliest  sympathy  with  the  fool's  good  qualities,  which  per- 
petually flatter  their  own  defects ;  while  they  find  the  man  of 
talent  hardly  agreeable  enough  to  compensate  for  his  short- 
comings.    All  capacity  is  a  sort  of  intermittent  fever,  and  no 
woman  is  anxious  to  share  in  its  discomforts  only ;  they  look 
to  find  in  their  lovers   the  wherewithal  to  gratify  their  own 
vanity.     It  is  themselves  that  they  love  in  us  !     But  the  artist, 
poor  and  proud,  along  with  his  endowment  of  creative  power, 
is  furnished  with  an  aggressive  egotism  !     Everything  about 
him  is  involved  in  I  know  not  what  whirlpool  of  his  ideas, 
and  even  his  mistress  must  gyrate  along  with  them.     How  is 
a  woman,  spoilt  with  praise,  to  believe  in  the  love  of  a  man 
like  that?    Will  she  go  to  seek  him  out  ?    That  sort  of  a  lover 
has  not  the  leisure  to  sit  beside  a  sofa  and  give  himself  up  to 
the  sentimental  simperings  that  women  are  so  fond  of,  and  on 
which  the  false  and  unfeeling  pride  themselves.     He  cannot 
spare  the  time   from    his  work,  and  how  can  he   afford   to 
humble  himself  and  go  a  masquerading?     I  was  ready  to  give 
my  life  once  and  for  all,  but  I  could  not  degrade  it  in  detail. 
Besides,  there  is  something  indescribably  paltry  in  a  stock- 
broker's tactics,  who  runs  on  errands  for  some  insipid  affected 
woman  ;  all  this  disgusts  an  artist.     Love  in  the  abstract  is 
not  enough  for  a  great  man  in  poverty;  he  has  need  of  its 
utmost  devotion.     The   frivolous  creatures  who  spend  their 
lives  in  trying  on  cashmeres,  or  make  themselves  into  clothes- 
pegs  to  hang  the  fashions  from,  exact  the  devotion  which  is 


88  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

not  theirs  to  give  ;  for  them,  love  means  the  pleasure  of  ruling 
and  not  of  obeying.  She  who  is  really  a  wife,  one  in  heart, 
flesh,  and  bone,  must  follow  wherever  he  leads,  in  whom  her 
life,  her  strength,  her  pride,  and  happiness  are  centred.  Am- 
bitious men  need  those  Oriental  women  whose  whole  thought 
is  given  to  the  study  of  their  requirements;  for  unhappiness 
means  for  them  the  incompatibility  of  their  means  with  their 
desires.  But  I,  who  took  myself  for  a  man  of  genius,  must 
needs  feel  attracted  by  these  very  she-coxcombs.  So,  as  I 
cherished  ideas  so  different  from  those  generally  received  ;  as 
I  wished  to  scale  the  heavens  without  a  ladder,  was  possessed 
of  wealth  that  could  not  circulate,  and  of  knowledge  so  wide 
and  so  imperfectly  arranged  and  digested  that  it  overtaxed 
my  memory ;  as  I  had  neither  relations  nor  friends  in  the  midst 
of  this  lonely  and  ghastly  desert,  a  desert  of  paving  stones, 
full  of  animation,  life,  and  thought,  wherein  every  one  is 
worse  than  inimical,  indifferent  to  wit,  I  made  a  very  natural, 
if  foolish,  resolve,  which  required  such  unknown  impossibili- 
ties, that  my  spirits  rose.  It  was  as  if  I  had  laid  a  wager  with 
myself,  for  I  was  at  once  the  player  and  the  cards. 

"  This  was  my  plan.  The  eleven  hundred  francs  must  keep 
life  in  me  for  three  years — the  time  I  allowed  myself  in  which 
to  bring  to  light  a  work  which  should  draw  attention  to  me, 
and  make  me  either  a  name  or  a  fortune.  I  exulted  at  the 
thought  of  living  on  bread  and  milk,  like  a  hermit  in  the 
Thebaid,  while  I  plunged  into  the  world  of  books  and  ideas, 
and  so  reached  a  lofty  sphere  beyond  the  tumult  of  Paris,  a 
sphere  of  silent  labor  where  I  would  entomb  myself  like  a 
chrysalis  to  await  a  brilliant  and  splendid  new  birth.  I  im- 
periled my  life  in  order  to  live.  By  reducing  my  require- 
ments to  real  needs  and  the  barest  necessaries,  I  found  that 
three  hundred  and  sixty-five  francs  sufficed  for  a  year  of 
penury ;  and,  in  fact,  I  managed  to  exist  on  that  slender  sum, 
so  long  as  I  submitted  to  my  own  claustral  discipline." 

"Impossible!"  cried  Emile. 


/     CANNOT      RECOLLECT     PAYING     FOR     WATER;        I      WENT     OUT 
TO     FETCH     IT     EVERY     MORNING. 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  89 

"I  lived  for  nearly  three  years  in  that  way,"  Raphael 
answered,  with  a  kind  of  pride.  "Let  us  reckon  it  out. 
Three  sous  for  bread,  two  for  milk,  and  three  for  cold  meat, 
kept  me  from  dying  of  hunger,  and  my  mind  in  a  state  of 
peculiar  lucidity.  I  have  observed,  as  you  know,  the  wonder- 
ful effects  produced  by  diet  upon  the  imagination.  My  lodg- 
ings cost  me  three  sous  daily;  I  burnt  three  sous  more  in  oil 
at  night ;  I  did  my  own  housework,  and  wore  flannel  shirts  so 
as  to  reduce  the  laundress'  bill  to  two  sons  per  day.  The 
money  I  spent  yearly  in  coal,  if  divided  up,  never  cost  more 
than  two  sous  for  each  day.  I  had  three  years'  supply  of 
clothing,  and  I  only  dressed  when  going  out  to  some  library 
or  public  lecture.  These  expenses,  all  told,  only  amounted  to 
eighteen  sous,  so  two  were  left  over  for  emergencies.  I  cannot 
recollect,  during  that  long  period  of  toil,  either  crossing  the 
Pont  des  Arts,  or  paying  for  water;  I  went  out  to  fetch  it  every 
morning  from  the  fountain  in  the  Place  Saint  Michel,  at  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  de  Gres.  Oh,  I  wore  my  poverty  proudly. 
A  man  urged  on  towards  a  fair  future  walks  through  life  like 
an  innocent  person  to  his  death  ;  he  feels  no  shame  about  it. 

"I  would  not  think  of  illness.  Like  Aquilina,  I  faced  the 
hospital  without  terror.  I  had  not  a  moment's  doubt  of  rny 
health,  and  besides,  the  poor  can  only  take  to  their  beds  to 
die.  I  cut  my  own  hair  till  the  day  when  an  angel  of  love 
and  kindness —  But  I  do  not  want  to  anticipate  the  state  of 
things  that  I  shall  reach  later.  You  must  simply  know  that  I 
lived  with  one  grand  thought  for  a  mistress,  a  dream,  an  illusion 
which  deceives  us  all  more  or  less  at  first.  To-day  I  laugh  at 
myself,  at  that  self,  holy  perhaps  and  heroic,  which  is  now  no 
more.  I  have  since  had  a  closer  view  of  society  and  the 
world,  of  our  manners  and  customs,  and  see  the  dangers  of 
my  innocent  credulity  and  the  superfluous  nature  of  my  fervent 
toil.  Stores  of  that  sort  are  quite  useless  to  aspirants  for 
fame.  Light  should  be  the  baggage  of  seekers  after  fortune  ! 
"Ambitious  men  spend  their  youth  in  rendering  themselves 


90  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKTN. 

worthy  of  patronage ;  it  is  their  great  mistake.  While  the 
foolish  creatures  are  laying  in  stores  of  knowledge  and  energy, 
so  that  they  shall  not  sink  under  the  weight  of  responsible 
posts  that  recede  from  them,  schemers  come  and  go  who  are 
wealthy  in  words  and  destitute  of  ideas,  astonish  the  ignorant, 
and  creep  into  the  confidence  of  those  who  have  a  little 
knowledge.  While  the  first  kind  study,  the  second  march 
ahead  ;  the  one  sort  is  modest,  and  the  other  impudent ;  the 
man  of  genius  is  silent  about  his  own  merit,  but  these  schemers 
make  a  flourish  of  theirs,  and  they  are  bound  to  get  on.  It 
is  so  strongly  to  the  interest  of  men  in  office  to  believe  in 
ready-made  capacity,  and  in  brazen-faced  merit,  that  it  is 
downright  childish  of  the  learned  to  expect  material  rewards. 
I  do  not  seek  to  paraphrase  the  commonplace  moral,  the  song 
of  songs  that  obscure  genius  is  forever  singing;  I  want  to  come, 
in  a  logical  manner,  by  the  reason  of  the  frequent  successes 
of  mediocrity.  Alas  !  study  shows  us  such  a  mother's  kind- 
ness that  it  would  be  a  sin  perhaps  to  ask  any  other  reward  of 
her  than  the  pure  and  delightful  pleasures  with  which  she  sus- 
tains her  children. 

"  Often  I  remember  soaking  my  bread  in  milk,  as  I  sat  by 
the  window  to  take  the  fresh  air,  while  my  eyes  wandered 
over  a  view  of  roofs — brown,  gray,  or  red,  slated  or  tiled,  and 
covered  with  yellow  or  green  mosses.  At  first  the  prospect 
may  have  seemed  monotonous,  but  I  very  soon  found  peculiar 
beauties  in  it.  Sometimes  at  night,  streams  of  light  through 
half-closed  shutters  would  light  up  and  color  the  dark  abysses 
of  this  strange  landscape.  Sometimes  the  feeble  lights  of  the 
street  lamps  sent  up  yellow  gleams  through  the  fog,  and  in 
each  street  dimly  outlined  the  undulations  of  a  crowd  of  roofs, 
like  billows  in  a  motionless  sea.  Very  occasionally,  too,  a 
face  appeared  in  this  gloomy  waste  ;  above  the  flowers  in  some 
skyey  garden  I  caught  a  glimpse  of  an  old  woman's  crooked 
angular  profile  as  she  watered  her  nasturtiums ;  or,  in  a  crazy 
attic  window,  a  young  girl,  fancying  herself  quite  alone  as 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A    HEART.  91 

she  dressed  herself — a  view  of  nothing  more  than  a  fair  fore- 
head and  long  tresses  held  above  her  by  a  pretty  white  arm. 

"  I  liked  to  see  the  short-lived  plant-life  in  the  gutters — poor 
weeds  that  a  storm  soon  washed  away.  I  studied  the  mosses, 
with  their  colors  revived  by  showers,  or  transformed  by  the 
sun  into  a  brown  velvet  that  fitfully  caught  the  light.  Such 
things  as  these  formed  my  recreations — the  passing  poetic 
moods  of  daylight,  the  melancholy  mists,  sudden  gleams  of 
sunlight,  the  silence  and  the  magic  of  night,  the  mysteries  of 
dawn,  the  smoke  wreaths  from  each  chimney ;  every  chance 
event,  in  fact,  in  my  curious  world  became  familiar  to  me.  I 
came  to  love  this  prison  of  my  own  choosing.  This  level 
Parisian  prairie  of  roofs,  beneath  which  lay  populous  abysses, 
suited  my  humor,  and  harmonized  with  my  thoughts. 

"  Sudden  descents  into  the  world  from  the  divine  height 
of  scientific  meditation  are  very  exhausting ;  and,  besides,  I 
had  apprehended  perfectly  the  bare  life  of  the  cloister.  When 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  carry  out  this  new  plan  of  life,  I  looked 
for  quarters  in  the  most  out-of-the-way  parts  of  Paris.  One 
evening,  as  I  returned  home  to  the  Rue  des  Cordiers  from  the 
Place  de  1'Estrapade,  I  saw  a  girl  of  fourteen  playing  with  a 
battledore  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  de  Cluny ;  her  winsome 
ways  and  laughter  amused  the  neighbors.  September  was  not 
yet  over ;  it  was  warm  and  fine,  so  that  women  sat  chatting 
before  their  doors  as  if  it  were  a  fete-day  in  some  country 
town.  At  first  I  watched  the  charming  expression  of  the 
girl's  face  and  her  graceful  attitudes,  her  pose  fit  for  a  painter. 
It  was  a  pretty  sight.  I  looked  about  me,  seeking  to  under- 
stand this  blithe  simplicity  in  the  midst  of  Paris,  and  saw  that 
the  street  was  a  blind  alley  and  but  little  frequented.  I  re- 
membered that  Jean  Jacques  had  once  lived  here,  and  looked 
up  the  Hotel  Saint-Quentin.  Its  dilapidated  condition 
awakened  hopes  of  a  cheap  lodging,  and  I  determined  to  enter. 

"  I  found  myself  in  a  room  with  a  low  ceiling  ;  the  candles, 
in  classic-looking  copper  candlesticks,  were  set  in  a  row  under 


92  THE    WILD  ASS*   SKIN. 

each  key.  The  predominating  cleanliness  of  the  room  made 
a  striking  contrast  to  the  usual  state  of  such  places.  This  one 
was  as  neat  as  a  bit  of  genre ;  there  was  a  charming  trimness 
about  the  blue  coverlet,  the  cooking  pots  and  furniture.  The 
mistress  of  the  house  rose  and  came  to  me.  She  seemed  to  be 
about  forty  years  of  age ;  sorrows  had  left  their  traces  on  her 
features,  and  weeping  had  dimmed  her  eyes.  I  deferentially 
mentioned  the  amount  I  could  pay ;  it  seemed  to  cause  her 
no  surprise  ;  she  sought  out  a  key  from  the  row,  went  up  to 
the  attics  with  me,  and  showed  me  a  room  that  looked  out  on 
the  neighboring  roofs  and  courts  ;  long  poles  with  linen  dry- 
ing on  them  hung  out  of  the  window. 

"  Nothing  could  be  uglier  than  this  garret,  awaiting  its 
scholar,  with  its  dingy  yellow  walls  and  odor  of  poverty. 
The  roofing  fell  in  a  deep  slope,  and  the  sky  was  visible 
through  chinks  in  the  tiles.  There  was  room  for  a  bed,  a 
table,  and  a  few  chairs,  and  beneath  the  highest  point  of  the 
roof  my  piano  could  stand.  Not  being  rich  enough  to  fur- 
nish this  cage  (that  might  have  been  one  of  the  Piombi  of 
Venice),  the  poor  woman  had  never  been  able  to  let  it;  and 
as  I  had  saved  from  the  recent  sale  the  furniture  that  was  in 
a  fashion  peculiarly  mine,  I  very  soon  came  to  terms  with  my 
landlady,  and  moved  in  on  the  following  day. 

"  For  three  years  I  lived  in  this  airy  sepulchre,  and  worked 
unflaggingly  day  and  night ;  and  so  great  was  the  pleasure, 
that  study  seemed  to  me  the  fairest  theme  and  the  happiest 
solution  of  life.  The  tranquillity  and  peace  that  a  scholar 
needs  is  something  as  sweet  and  exhilarating  as  love.  Un- 
speakable joys  are  showered  on  us  by  the  exertion  of  our 
mental  faculties;  the  quest  of  ideas,  and  the  tranquil  contem- 
plation of  knowledge  ;  delights  indescribable,  because  purely 
intellectual  and  impalpable  to  our  senses.  So  we  are  obliged 
to  use  material  terms  to  express  the  mysteries  of  the  soul. 
The  pleasure  of  striking  out  in  some  lonely  lake  of  clear 
water,  with  forests,  rocks,  and  flowers  around,  and  the  soft 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  93 

stirring  of  the  warm  breeze, — all  this  would  give  to  those 
who  knew  them  not  a  very  faint  idea  of  the  exultation  with 
which  my  soul  bathed  itself  in  the  beams  of  an  unknown  light, 
hearkened  to  the  awful  and  uncertain  voice  of  inspiration,  as 
vision  upon  vision  poured  from  some  unknown  source  through 
my  throbbing  brain. 

"  No  earthly  pleasure  can  compare  with  the  divine  delight 
of  watching  the  dawn  of  an  idea  in  the  space  of  abstractions, 
as  it  rises  like  the  morning  sun ;  an  idea  that,  better  still, 
attains  gradually  like  a  child  to  puberty  and  man's  estate. 
Study  lends  a  kind  of  enchantment  to  all  our  surroundings. 
The  wretched  desk  covered  with  brown  leather  at  which  I 
wrote,  my  piano,  bed,  and  arm-chair,  the  old  wall-paper  and 
furniture,  seemed  to  have  for  me  a  kind  of  life  in  them,  and 
to  be  humble  friends  of  mine  and  mute  partakers  of  my 
destiny.  How  often  have  I  confided  my  soul  to  them  in  a 
glance  !  A  warped  bit  of  beading  often  met  my  eyes,  and 
suggested  new  developments, — a  striking  proof  of  my  system, 
or  a  felicitous  word  by  which  to  render  my  all  but  inexpress- 
ible thought.  By  sheer  contemplation  of  the  things  about  me 
I  discerned  an  expression  and  a  character  in  each.  If  the 
setting  sun  happened  to  steal  in  through  my  narrow  window, 
they  would  take  new  colors,  fade  or  shine,  grow  dull  or  gay, 
and  always  amaze  me  with  some  new  effect.  These  trifling 
incidents  of  a  solitary  life,  which  escape  those  preoccupied 
with  outward  affairs,  make  the  solace  of  prisoners.  And  what 
was  I  but  the  captive  of  an  idea,  imprisoned  in  my  system, 
but  sustained  also  by  the  prospect  of  a  brilliant  future?  At 
each  obstacle  that  I  overcame,  I  seemed  to  kiss  the  soft  hands 
of  a  woman  with  a  fair  face,  a  wealthy,  well-dressed  woman, 
who  should  some  day  say  softly,  while  she  caressed  my  hair — 

"  '  Poor  angel,  how  thou  hast  suffered  ! ' 

"  I  had  undertaken  two  great  works — one  a  comedy  that  in 
a  very  short  time  must  bring  me  wealth  and  fame,  and  an 
entry  into  those  circles  whither  I  wished  to  return,  to  exercise 
7 


94  THE    WILD  ASS1    SKIN. 

the  royal  privilege  of  a  man  of  genius.  You  all  saw  nothing 
in  that  masterpiece  but  the  blunder  of  a  young  man  fresh  from 
college,  a  babyish  fiasco.  Your  jokes  clipped  the  wings  of  a 
throng  of  illusions,  which  have  never  stirred  since  within  me. 
You,  dear  Emile,  alone  brought  soothing  to  the  deep  wounds 
that  others  had  made  in  my  heart.  You  alone  will  admire 
my  '  Theory  of  the  Will.'  I  devoted  most  of  my  time  to  that 
long  work,  for  which  I  studied  Oriental  languages,  physiology 
and  anatomy.  If  I  do  not  deceive  myself,  my  labors  will 
complete  the  task  begun  by  Mesmer,  Lavater,  Gale,  and 
Bichat,  and  open  up  new  paths  in  science. 

"There  ends  that  fair  life  of  mine,  the  daily  sacrifice,  the 
unrecognized  silkworm's  toil,  that  is,  perhaps,  its  own  sole 
recompense.  Since  attaining  years  of  discretion,  until  the 
day  when  I  finished  my  '  Theory/  1  observed,  learned,  wrote, 
and  read  unintermittingly ;  my  life  was  one  long  imposition, 
as  schoolboys  say.  Though  by  nature  effeminately  attached 
to  Oriental  indolence,  sensual  in  tastes,  and  a  wooer  of 
dreams,  I  worked  incessantly,  and  refused  to  taste  any  of  the 
enjoyments  of  Parisian  life.  Though  a  glutton,  I  became 
abstemious;  and  loving  exercise  and  sea  voyages  as  I  did, 
and  haunted  by  the  wish  to  visit  many  countries,  still  child 
enough  to  play  at  ducks  and  drakes  with  pebbles  over  a  pond, 
I  led  a  sedentary  life  with  a  pen  in  my  fingers.  I  liked  talk- 
ing, but  I  went  to  sit  and  mutely  listen  to  professors  who 
gave  public  lectures  at  the  Library  or  the  museum.  I 
slept  upon  my  solitary  pallet  like  a  Benedictine  brother, 
though  woman  was  my  one  chimera,  a  chimera  that  fled  from 
me  as  I  wooed  it !  In  short,  my  life  has  been  a  cruel  contra- 
diction, a  perpetual  cheat.  After  that,  judge  a  man  ! 

"  Sometimes  my  natural  propensities  broke  out  like  a  fire 
long  smothered.  I  was  debarred  from  the  women  whose  so- 
ciety I  desired,  stripped  of  everything  and  lodged  in  an 
artist's  garret,  and  by  a  sort  of  mirage  or  calenture  I  was  sur- 
rounded by  captivating  mistresses.  I  drove  through  the 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  95 

streets  of  Paris,  lolling  on  the  soft  cushions  of  a  fine  equi- 
page. I  plunged  into  dissipation,  into  corroding  vice,  I 
desired  and  possessed  everything,  for  fasting  had  made  me 
light-headed  like  the  tempted  St.  Anthony.  Slumber,  hap- 
pily, would  put  an  end  at  last  to  these  devastating  trances ; 
and  on  the  morrow  science  would  beckon  me,  smiling,  and  I 
was  faithful  to  her.  I  imagine  that  women  reputed  virtuous 
must  often  fall  a  prey  to  these  insane  tempests  of  desire  and 
passion,  which  rise  in  us  in  spite  of  ourselves.  Such  dreams 
have  a  charm  of  their  own  ;  they  are  something  akin  to 
evening  gossip  round  the  winter  fire,  when  one  sets  out  for 
some  voyage  in  China.  But  what  becomes  of  virtue  during 
these  delicious  excursions,  when  fancy  overleaps  all  diffi- 
culties? 

"  During  the  first  ten  months  of  seclusion  I  led  the  life  of 
poverty  and  solitude  that  I  have  described  to  you ;  I  used  to 
steal  out  unobserved  every  morning  to  buy  my  own  provi- 
sions for  the  day ;  I  tidied  my  room  ;  I  was  at  once  master 
and  servant,  and  played  the  Diogenes  with  incredible  spirit. 
But  afterwards,  while  my  hostess  and  her  daughter  watched 
my  ways  and  behavior,  scrutinized  my  appearance  and  divined 
my  poverty,  there  could  not  but  be  some  bonds  between  us ; 
perhaps  because  they  were  themselves  so  very  poor.  Pauline, 
the  charming  child,  whose  latent  and  unconscious  grace  had, 
in  a  manner,  brought  me  there,  did  me  many  services  that  I 
could  not  well  refuse.  All  women  fallen  on  evil  days  are 
sisters ;  they  speak  a  common  language ;  they  have  the  same 
generosity — the  generosity  that  possesses  nothing,  and  so  is 
lavish  of  its  affection,  of  its  time,  and  of  its  very  self. 

"  Imperceptibly  Pauline  took  me  under  her  protection,  and 
would  do  things  for  me.  No  kind  of  objection  was  made  by 
her  mother,  whom  I  even  surprised  mending  my  linen  ;  she 
blushed  for  the  charitable  occupation.  In  spite  of  myself, 
they  took  charge  of  me,  and  I  accepted  their  services. 

"  In   order  to  understand  the  peculiar  condition   of  my 


96  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

mind,  my  preoccupation  with  work  must  be  remembered,  the 
tyranny  of  ideas,  and  the  instinctive  repugnance  that  a  man 
who  leads  an  intellectual  life  must  ever  feel  for  the  material 
details  of  existence.  Could  I  well  repulse  the  delicate  atten- 
tions of  Pauline,  who  would  noiselessly  bring  me  my  frugal 
repast,  when  she  noticed  that  I  had  taken  nothing  for  seven 
or  eight  hours  ?  She  had  the  tact  of  a  woman  and  the  inven- 
tiveness of  a  child  ;  she  would  smile  as  she  would  make  sign 
to  me  that  I  must  not  see  her.  Ariel  glided  under  my  roof 
in  the  form  of  a  sylph  who  foresaw  every  want  of  mine. 

"  One  evening  Pauline  told  me  her  story  with  touching 
simplicity.  Her  father  had  been  a  major  in  the  horse  grena- 
diers of  the  imperial  guard.  He  had  been  taken  prisoner  by 
the  Cossacks,  at  the  passage  of  the  Beresina;  and  when 
Napoleon  later  on  proposed  an  exchange,  the  Russian  authori- 
ties made  search  for  him  in  Siberia  in  vain  ;  he  had  escaped 
with  a  view  of  reaching  India,  and  since  then  Mme.  Gaudin, 
my  landlady,  could  hear  no  news  of  her  husband.  Then 
came  the  disasters  of  1814  and  1815  ;  and,  left  alone  and 
without  resource,  she  had  decided  to  let  furnished  lodgings  in 
order  to  keep  herself  and  her  daughter. 

"  She  always  hoped  to  see  her  husband  again.  Her  great- 
est trouble  was  about  her  daughter's  education  ;  the  Princess 
Borghese  was  her  Pauline's  godmother ;  and  Pauline  must  not 
be  unworthy  of  the  fair  future  promised  by  her  imperial  pro- 
tectress. When  Mme.  Gaudin  confided  to  me  this  heavy 
trouble  that  preyed  upon  her,  she  said  with  sharp  pain  in  her 
voice,  '  I  would  give  up  the  property  and  the  scrap  of  paper 
that  makes  Gaudin  a  baron  of  the  empire,  and  all  our  rights 
to  the  endowment  of  Wistchnau,  if  only  Pauline  could  be 
brought  up  at  Saint-Denis  1 '  Her  words  struck  me  ;  now  I 
could  show  my  gratitude  for  the  kindnesses  expended  on  me 
by  the  two  women ;  all  at  once  the  idea  of  offering  to  finish 
Pauline's  education  occurred  to  me ;  and  the  offer  was  made 
and  accepted  in  the  most  perfect  simplicity.  In  this  way  I 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEAR7\  97 

came  to  have  some  hours  of  recreation.  Pauline  had  natural 
aptitude  ;  she  learned  so  quickly  that  she  soon  surpassed  me 
at  the  piano.  As  she  became  accustomed  to  think  aloud  m 
my  presence,  she  unfolded  all  the  sweet  refinements  of  a  heart 
that  was  opening  itself  out  to  life,  as  some  flower-cup  opens 
slowly  to  the  sun.  She  listened  to  me,  pleased  and  thought- 
ful, letting  her  dark  velvet  eyes  rest  upon  me  with  a  half- 
smile  in  them  ;  she  repeated  her  lessons  in  soft  and  gentle 
tones,  and  showed  childish  glee  when  I  was  satisfied  with  her. 
Her  mother  grew  more  and  more  anxious  every  day  to  shield 
the  young  girl  from  every  danger  (for  all  the  beauty  promised 
in  early  life  was  developing  in  the  crescent  moon),  and  was 
glad  to  see  her  spend  whole  days  indoors  in  study.  My  piano 
was  the  only  one  she  could  use,  and  while  I  was  out  she  prac- 
tised on  it.  When  I  came  home,  Pauline  would  be  in  my 
room,  in  her  shabby  dress,  but  her  slightest  movement  revealed 
her  slender  figure  in  its  attractive  grace,  in  spite  of  the  coarse 
materials  that  she  wore.  As  with  the  heroine  of  the  fable  of 
'  Peau  d'Ane,'  a  dainty  foot  peeped  out  of  the  clumsy  shoes. 
But  all  her  wealth  of  girlish  beauty  was  as  lost  upon  me.  I 
had  laid  commands  upon  myself  to  see  a  sister  only  in  Pauline. 
I  dreaded  lest  I  should  betray  her  mother's  faith  in  me.  I 
admired  the  lovely  girl  as  if  she  had  been  a  picture,  or  as  the 
portrait  of  a  dead  mistress  ;  she  was  at  once  my  child  and  my 
statue.  For  me,  another  Pygmalion,  the  maiden  with  the 
hues  of  life  and  the  living  voice  was  to  become  a  form  of  in- 
animate marble.  I  was  very  strict  with  her,  but  the  more  I 
made  her  feel  my  pedagogue's  severity,  the  more  gentle  and 
submissive  she  grew. 

"  If  a  generous  feeling  strengthened  me  in  my  reserve  and 
self-restraint,  prudent  considerations  were  not  lacking  beside. 
Integrity  of  purpose  cannot,  I  think,  fail  to  accompany  integ- 
rity in  money  matters.  To  my  mind,  to  become  insolvent  or 
to  betray  a  woman  is  the  same  sort  of  thing.  If  you  love  a 
young  girl,  or  allow  yourself  to  be  beloved  by  her,  a  contract 


98  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

is  implied,  and  its  conditions  should  be  thoroughly  under- 
stood. We  are  free  to  break  with  the  woman  who  sells  her- 
self, but  not  with  the  young  girl  who  has  given  herself  to  us 
and  does  not  know  the  extent  of  her  sacrifice.  I  must  have 
married  Pauline,  and  that  would  have  been  madness.  Would 
it  not  have  given  over  that  sweet  girlish  heart  to  terrible  mis- 
fortunes? My  poverty  made  its  selfish  voice  heard,  and  set 
an  iron  barrier  between  that  gentle  nature  and  mine.  Besides, 
I  am  ashamed  to  say,  that  I  cannot  imagine  love  in  the  midst 
of  poverty.  Perhaps  this  is  a  vitiation  due  to  that  malady 
of  mankind  called  civilization;  but  a  woman  in  squalid  pov- 
erty would  exert  no  fascination  over  me,  were  she  attractive 
as  Homer's  Galatea,  the  fair  Helen. 

"Ah,  vive  T amour.'  But  let  it  be  in  silk  and  cashmere, 
surrounded  with  the  luxury  which  so  marvelously  embellishes 
it ;  for  is  it  not  perhaps  itself  a  luxury  ?  I  enjoy  making 
havoc  with  an  elaborate  erection  of  scented  hair ;  I  like  to 
crush  flowers,  to  disarrange  and  crease  a  smart  toilette  at  will. 
A  bizarre  attraction  lies  for  me  in  burning  eyes  that  blaze 
through  a  lace  veil,  like  flame  through  cannon  smoke.  My 
way  of  love  would  be  to  mount  by  a  silken  ladder,  in  the 
silence  of  a  winter  night.  And  what  bliss  to  reach,  all  pow- 
dered with  snow,  a  perfumed  room,  with  hangings  of  painted 
silk,  to  find  a  woman  there,  who  likewise  shakes  away  the 
snow  from  her ;  for  what  other  name  can  be  found  for  the 
white  muslin  wrappings  that  vaguely  define  her,  like  some 
angel  form  issuing  from  a  cloud  !  And  then  I  wish  for  furtive 
joys,  for  the  security  of  audacity.  I  want  to  see  once  more 
that  woman  of  mystery,  but  let  it  be  in  the  throng,  dazzling, 
unapproachable,  adored  on  all  sides,  dressed  in  laces  and 
ablaze  with  diamonds,  laying  her  commands  upon  every  one; 
so  exalted  above  us  that  she  inspires  awe,  and  none  dares  to 
pay  his  homage  to  her. 

"She  gives  me  a  stolen  glance,  amid  her  court,  a  look  that 
exposes  the  unreality  of  all  this ;  that  resigns  for  me  the 


A    WOMAN    WITHOUT  A   HEART.  99 

world  and  all  men  in  it !  Truly  I  have  scorned  myself  for  a 
passion  for  a  few  yards  of  lace,  velvet,  and  fine  lawn,  and 
the  hairdresser's  feats  of  skill  ;  a  love  of  wax-lights,  a  carriage 
and  a  title,  a  heraldic  coronet  painted  on  window  panes,  or 
engraved  by  a  jeweler;  in  short,  a  liking  for  all  that  is  adven- 
titious and  least  womanly  in  woman.  I  have  scorned  and 
reasoned  with  myself,  but  all  in  vain. 

"  A  woman  of  rank  with  her  subtle  smile,  her  high-born 
air,  and  self-esteem  captivates  me.  The  barriers  she  erects 
between  herself  and  the  world  awaken  my  vanity,  a  good 
half  of  love.  There  would  be  more  relish  for  me  in  bliss 
that  all  others  envied.  If  my  mistress  does  nothing  that 
other  women  do,  and  neither  lives  nor  conducts  herself  like 
them,  wears  a  cloak  that  they  cannot  attain,  breathes  a  per- 
fume of  her  own,  then  she  seems  to  rise  far  above  me.  The 
further  she  rises  from  earth,  even  in  the  earthlier  aspects  of 
love,  the  fairer  she  becomes  for  me. 

"  Luckily  for  me  we  have  had  no  queen  in  France  these 
twenty  years,  for  I  should  have  fallen  in  love  with  her.  A 
woman  must  be  wealthy  to  acquire  the  manners  of  a  princess. 
What  place  had  Pauline  among  these  far-fetched  imaginings? 
Could  she  bring  me  the  love  that  is  death,  that  brings  every 
faculty  into  play,  the  nights  that  are  paid  for  by  life  ?  We 
hardly  die,  I  think,  for  an  insignificant  girl  who  gives  her. 
self  to  us;  and  I  could  never  extinguish  these  feelings  and 
poet's  dreams  within  me.  I  was  born  for  an  inaccessible 
love,  and  fortune  has  overtopped  my  desire. 

"  How  often  have  I  set  satin  shoes  on  Pauline's  tiny  feet, 
confined  her  form,  slender  as  a  young  poplar,  in  a  robe  of 
gauze,  and  thrown  a  loose  scarf  about  her  as  I  saw  her  tread 
the  carpets  in  her  mansion  and  led  her  out  to  her  splendid 
carriage  !  In  such  guise  I  should  have  adored  her.  I  endowed 
her  with  all  the  pride  she  lacked,  stripped  her  of  her  virtues, 
her  natural  simple  charm,  and  frank  smile,  in  order  to  plunge 
her  heart  in  our  Styx  of  depravity  and  make  it  invulnerable, 


100  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN. 

load  her  with  our  crimes,  make  of  her  the  fantastical  doll  of 
our  drawing-rooms,  the  frail  being  who  lies  a-bed  in  the 
morning  and  comes  to  life  again  at  night  with  the  dawn  of 
tapers.  Pauline  was  fresh-hearted  and  affectionate — I  would 
have  had  her  cold  and  formal. 

"  In  the  last  days  of  my  frantic  folly,  memory  brought 
Pauline  before  me,  as  it  brings  the  scene  of  our  childhood, 
and  made  me  pause  to  muse  over  past  delicious  moments  that 
softened  my  heart.  I  sometimes  saw  her,  the  adorable  girl 
who  sat  quietly  sewing  at  my  table,  wrapped  in  her  medita- 
tions ;  the  faint  light  from  my  window  fell  upon  her  and  was 
reflected  back  in  silvery  rays  from  her  thick  black  hair ;  some- 
times I  heard  her  young  laughter,  or  the  rich  tones  of  her 
young  voice  singing  some  canzonet  that  she  composed  without 
effort.  And  often  my  Pauline  seemed  to  grow  greater,  as 
music  flowed  from  her,  and  her  face  bore  a  striking  resem- 
blance to  the  noble  one  that  Carlo  Dolci  chose  for  the  type  of 
Italy.  My  cruel  memory  brought  her  back  athwart  the  dissi- 
pations of  my  existence,  like  a  remorse,  or  a  symbol  of  purity. 
But  let  us  leave  the  poor  child  to  her  own  fate.  Whatever 
her  troubles  may  have  been,  at  any  rate  I  protected  her  from 
menacing  tempest — I  did  not  drag  her  down  into  my  hell. 

"Until  last  winter  lied  the  uneventful  studious  life  of 
which  I  have  given  you  some  faint  picture.  In  the  earliest 
days  of  December,  1829,  I  came  across  Rastignac,  who,  in 
spite  of  the  shabby  condition  of  my  wardrobe,  linked  his  arm 
in  mine,  and  inquired  into  my  affairs  with  a  quite  brotherly 
interest.  Caught  by  his  engaging  manner,  I  gave  him  a 
brief  account  of  my  life  and  hopes ;  he  began  to  laugh,  and 
treated  me  as  a  mixture,  of  a  man  of  genius  and  a  fool.  His 
Gascon  accent  and  knowledge  of  the  world,  the  easy  life  his 
clever  management  procured  for  him,  all  produced  an  irresist- 
ible effect  upon  me.  I  should  die  an  unrecognized  failure  in 
a  hospital,  Rastignac  said,  and  be  buried  in  a  pauper's  grave. 
He  talked  of  charlatanism.  Every  man  of  genius  was  a 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  101 

charlatan,  he  plainly  showed  me  in  that  pleasant  way  of  his 
that  makes  him  so  fascinating.  He  insisted  that  I  must  be 
out  of  my  senses,  and  would  be  my  own  death,  if  I  lived  on 
alone  in  the  Rue  des  Cordiers.  According  to  him  I  ought  to 
go  into  society,  to  accustom  people  to  the  sound  of  my  name, 
and  to  rid  myself  of  the  simple  title  of  'Monsieur'  which 
sits  but  ill  on  a  great  man  in  his  lifetime. 

"  'Those  who  know  no  better,'  he  cried,  'call  this  sort 
of  business  scheming,  and  moral  people  condemn  it  for  a 
"dissipated  life."  We  need  not  stop  to  look  at  what  people 
think,  but  see  the  results.  You  work,  you  say  ?  Very  good, 
but  nothing  will  ever  come  of  that.  Now,  I  am  ready  for 
anything  and  fit  for  nothing.  As  lazy  as  a  lobster  very  likely  : 
but  I  succeed  everywhere.  I  go  out  into  society,  I  push 
myself  forward,  the  others  make  way  before  me ;  I  brag  and 
am  believed  ;  I  incur  debts  which  somebody  else  pays  !  Dis- 
sipation, dear  boy,  is  a  methodical  policy.  The  life  of  a  man 
who  deliberately  runs  through  his  fortune  often  becomes  a 
business  speculation ;  his  friends,  his  pleasures,  patrons,  and 
acquaintances  are  his  capital.  Suppose  a  merchant  runs  a  risk 
of  a  million  for  twenty  years,  he  can  neither  sleep,  eat,  nor 
amuse  himself;  he  is  brooding  over  his  million  ;  it  makes 
him  run  about  all  over  Europe ;  he  worries  himself,  goes  to 
the  devil  in  every  way  that  man  has  invented.  Then  comes 
a  liquidation,  such  as  I  have  seen  myself,  which  very  often 
leaves  him  penniless  and  without  a  reputation  or  a  friend. 
The  spendthrift,  on  the  other  hand,  takes  life  as  a  serious 
game,  and  sees  his  horses  run.  He  loses  his  capital,  perhaps, 
but  he  stands  a  chance  of  being  nominated  Receiver-General, 
of  making  a  wealthy  marriage,  or  of  an  appointment  as 
attache'  to  a  minister  or  an  ambassador;  and  he  has  his  friends 
left  and  his  name,  and  he  never  wants  money.  He  knows  the 
standing  of  everybody,  and  uses  every  one  for  his  own  ben- 
efit. Is  this  logical,  or  am  I  a  madman  after  all?  Haven't 
you  there  all  the  moral  of  the  comedy  that  goes  on  every  day 


102  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

.in  this  world?  Your  work  is  completed/  he  went  on  after  a 
pause  ;  '  you  are  immensely  clever  !  Well,  you  have  only 
arrived  at  my  starting-point.  Now,  you  had  better  look  after 
its  success  yourself;  it  is  the  surest  way.  You  will  make  allies 
in  every  clique,  and  secure  applause  beforehand.  I  mean  to 
go  halves  in  your  glory  myself;  I  shall  be  the  jeweler  who 
set  the  diamonds  in  your  crown.  Come  here  to-morrow 
evening,  by  way  of  a  beginning.  I  will  introduce  you  to  a 
house  where  all  Paris  goes,  all  our  Paris,  that  is — the  Paris  of 
exquisites,  millionaires,  celebrities,  all  the  folk  who  talk  gold 
like  Chrysostom.  When  they  have  taken  up  a  book,  that 
book  becomes  the  fashion  ;  and  if  it  is  something  really  good 
for  once,  they  will  have  declared  it  to  be  a  work  of  genius 
without  knowing  it.  If  you  have  any  sense,  my  dear  fellow, 
you  will  insure  the  success  of  your  "Theory,"  by  a  better 
understanding  of  the  theory  of  success.  To-morrow  evening 
you  shall  go  to  see  that  queen  of  the  moment — the  beautiful 
Countess  Foedora.' 

"  '  I  have  never  heard  of  her.'     .     .     . 

"  '  You  Hottentot !  '  laughed  Rastignac  ;  t  you  do  not  know 
Foedora?  A  great  match  with  an  income  of  nearly  eighty 
thousand  livres,  who  has  taken  a  fancy  to  nobody,  or  else  no 
one  has  taken  a  fancy  to  her.  A  sort  of  feminine  enigma,  a 
half-Russian  Parisienne,  or  a  half-Parisian  Russian.  All  the 
romantic  productions  that  never  get  published  are  brought  out 
at  her  house ;  she  is  the  handsomest  woman  in  Paris,  and  the 
most  gracious !  You  are  not  even  a  Hottentot ;  you  are 
something  between  the  Hottentot  and  the  beast.  Good-bye 
till  to-morrow.' 

"  He  swung  round  on  his  heel  and  made  off  without  wait- 
ing for  any  answer.  It  never  occurred  to  him  that  a  reason- 
ing being  could  refuse  an  introduction  to  Fcedora.  How  can 
the  fascination  of  a  name  be  explained  ?  FCEDORA  haunted 
me  like  some  evil  thought,  with  which  you  seek  to  come  to 
terms.  A  voice  said  in  me,  '  You  are  going  to  see  Fcedora  ! ' 


A    WOMAN    WITHOUT  A   HEART.  103 

In  vain  I  reasoned  with  that  voice,  saying  that  it  lied  to  me  ; 
all  my  arguments  were  defeated  by  the  name  'Fcedora.' 
Was  not  the  name,  and  even  the  woman  herself,  the  symbol 
of  all  my  desires,  and  the  object  of  my  life? 

"The  name  called  up  recollections  of  the  conventional 
glitter  of  the  world,  the  upper  world  of  Paris  with  its  brilliant 
fetes  and  the  tinsel  of  its  vanities.  The  woman  brought  be- 
fore me  all  the  problems  of  passion  on  which  my  mind  con- 
tinually ran.  Perhaps  it  was  neither  the  woman  nor  the  name, 
but  my  own  propensities,  that  sprang  up  within  me  and 
tempted  me  afresh.  Here  was  the  Countess  Fcedora,  rich 
and  loveless,  proof  against  the  temptations  of  Paris ;  was  not 
this  woman  the  very  incarnation  of  my  hopes  and  visions? 
I  fashioned  her  for  myself,  drew  her  in  fancy,  and  dreamed 
of  her.  I  could  not  sleep  that  night ;  I  became  her  lover  ;  I 
overbrimmed  a  few  hours  with  a  whole  lifetime — a  lover's 
lifetime;  the  experience  of  its  prolific  delights  burned  me. 

"The  next  day  I  could  not  bear  the  tortures  of  delay;  I 
borrowed  a  novel,  and  spent  the  whole  day  over  it,  so  that  I 
could  not  possibly  think  nor  keep  account  of  the  time  till 
night.  Fcedora's  name  echoed  through  me  even  as  I  read, 
but  only  as  a  distant  sound  :  though  it  could  be  heard,  it  was 
not  troublesome.  Fortunately,  I  owned  a  fairly  creditable 
black  coat  and  a  white  waistcoat ;  of  all  my  fortune  there  now 
remained  about  thirty  francs,  which  I  had  distributed  about 
among  my  clothes  and  in  my  drawers,  so  as  to  erect  between  my 
whims  and  the  spending  of  a  five-franc  piece  a  thorny  barrier 
of  search,  and  an  adventurous  peregrination  round  my  room. 
While  I  was  dressing,  I  dived  about  for  my  money  in  an 
ocean  of  papers.  This  scarcity  of  specie  will  give  you  some 
idea  of  the  value  of  that  squandered  upon  gloves  and  cab-hire  ; 
a  month's  bread  disappeared  at  one  fell  swoop.  Alas  !  money 
is  always  forthcoming  for  our  caprices ;  we  only  grudge  the 
cost  of  things  that  are  useful  or  necessary.  We  recklessly 
fling  gold  to  an  opera-dancer,  and  haggle  with  a  tradesman 


104  THE    WILD   ASS*    SKIN. 

whose  hungry  family  must  wait  for  the  settlement  of  our  bill. 
How  many  men  are  there  that  wear  a  coat  that  costs  a  hundred 
francs,  carry  a  diamond  in  the  head  of  their  cane,  and  dine 
for  twenty-five  sous  for  all  that !  It  seems  as  though  we  could 
never  pay  enough  for  the  pleasures  of  vanity. 

"  Rastignac,  punctual  to  his  appointment,  smiled  at  the 
transformation,  and  joked  about  it.  On  the  way  he  gave  me 
benevolent  advice  as  to  my  conduct  with  the  countess  ;  he 
described  her  as  mean,  vain,  and  suspicious ;  but  though 
mean,  she  was  ostentatious,  her  vanity  was  transparent,  and 
her  mistrust  good-humored. 

"  '  You  know  I  am  pledged,'  he  said,  'and  what  I  should 
lose,  too,  if  I  tried  a  change  in  love.  So  my  observation  of 
Fcedora  has  been  quite  cool  and  disinterested,  and  my  re- 
marks must  have  some  truth  in  them.  I  was  looking  to  your 
future  when  I  thought  of  introducing  you  to  her ;  so  mind 
very  carefully  what  I  am  about  to  say.  She  has  a  terrible 
memory.  She  is  clever  enough  to  drive  a  diplomatist  wild  ; 
she  would  know  it  at  once  if  he  spoke  the  truth.  Between 
ourselves,  I  fancy  that  her  marriage  was  not  recognized  by 
the  Emperor,  for  the  Russian  ambassador  began  to  smile  when 
I  spoke  of  her ;  he  does  not  receive  her  either,  and  only  bows 
very  coolly  if  he  meets  her  in  the  Bois.  For  all  that,  she 
is  in  Madame  de  Serizy's  set,  and  visits  Mesdames  de  Nucin- 
gen  and  de  Restaud.  There  is  no  cloud  over  her  here  in 
France ;  the  Duchesse  de  Carigliano,  the  most  strait-laced 
marechale  in  the  whole  Bonapartist  coterie,  often  goes  to 
spend  the  summer  with  her  at  her  country  house.  Plenty  of 
young  fops,  sons  of  peers  of  France,  have  offered  her  a  title  in 
exchange  for  her  fortune,  and  she  has  politely  declined  them 
all.  Her  susceptibilities,  may  be,  are  not  to  be  touched  by 
anything  less  than  a  count.  Aren't  you  a  marquis?  Go 
ahead  if  you  fancy  her.  This  is  what  you  may  call  "  receiving 
your  instructions.' ' 

"  His  raillery  made  me  think  that  Rastignac   wished   to 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  105 

joke  and  excite  my  curiosity,  so  that  I  was  in  a  paroxysm  of 
my  extemporized  passion  by  the  time  that  we  stopped  before 
a  peristyle  full  of  flowers.  My  heart  beat  and  my  color  rose 
as  we  went  up  the  great  carpeted  staircase,  and  I  noticed 
about  me  all  the  studied  refinements  of  English  comfort ;  I 
was  infatuatedly  bourgeois;  I  forgot  my  origin  and  all  my 
personal  and  family  pride.  Alas  !  I  had  just  left  a  garret, 
after  three  years  of  poverty,  and  I  could  not  just  then  set  the 
treasures  there  acquired  above  such  trifles  as  these.  Nor  could 
I  rightly  estimate  the  worth  of  the  vast  intellectual  capital 
which  turns  to  riches  at  the  moment  when  opportunity  comes 
within  our  reach,  opportunity  that  does  not  overwhelm, 
because  study  has  prepared  us  for  the  struggles  of  public 
life. 

"  I  found  a  woman  of  about  twenty-two  years  of  age  ;  she 
was  of  average  height,  was  dressed  in  white,  and  held  a  feather 
fire-screen  in  her  hand  ;  a  group  of  men  stood  around  her. 
She  rose  at  the  sight  of  Rastignac,  and  came  towards  us  with 
a  gracious  smile  and  a  musically-uttered  compliment,  prepared 
no  doubt  beforehand,  for  me.  Our  friend  had  spoken  of  me 
as  a  rising  man,  and  his  clever  way  of  making  the  most  of  me 
had  procured  me  this  flattering  reception.  I  was  confused  by 
the  attention  which  every  one  paid  to  me ;  but  Rastignac  had 
luckily  mentioned  my  modesty.  I  was  brought  in  contact 
with  scholars,  men  of  letters,  ex-ministers,  and  peers  of 
France.  The  conversation,  interrupted  awhile  by  my  coming, 
was  resumed.  I  took  courage,  feeling  that  I  had  a  reputation 
to  maintain,  and,  without  abusing  my  privilege,  I  spoke  when 
it  fell  to  me  to  speak,  trying  to  state  the  questions  at  issue  in 
words  more  or  less  profound,  witty  or  trenchant,  and  I  made 
a  certain  sensation.  Rastignac  was  a  prophet  for  the  thou- 
sandth time  in  his  life.  As  soon  as  the  gathering  was  large 
enough  to  restore  freedom  to  individuals,  he  took  my  arm, 
and  we  went  round  the  rooms. 

"  '  Don't  look   as  if  you  were  too  much  struck  by  the  prin- 


106  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIX. 

cess,'  he  said,  'or  she  will  guess  your  object  in  coming  to 
visit  her.' 

"The  rooms  were  furnished  in  excellent  taste.  Each 
apartment  had  a  character  of  its  own,  as  in  wealthy  English 
houses;  and  the  silken  hangings,  the  style  of  the  furniture, 
and  the  ornaments,  even  the  most  trifling,  were  all  subordi- 
nated to  the  original  idea.  In  a  gothic  boudoir  the  doors 
were  concealed  by  tapestried  curtains,  and  the  paneling  by 
hangings ;  the  clock  and  the  pattern  of  the  carpet  were  made 
to  harmonize  with  the  gothic  surroundings.  The  ceiling, 
with  its  carved  cross-beams  of  brown  wood,  was  full  of  charm 
and  originality;  the  panels  were  beautifully  wrought ;  nothing 
disturbed  the  general  harmony  of  the  scheme  of  decoration, 
not  even  the  windows  with  their  rich  colored  glass.  I  was 
surprised  by  the  extensive  knowledge  of  decoration  that  some 
artist  had  brought  to  bear  on  a  little  modern  room,  it  was  so 
pleasant  and  fresh,  and  not  heavy,  but  subdued  with  its  dead 
gold  hues.  It  had  all  the  vague  sentiment  of  a  German 
ballad;  it  was  a  retreat  fit  for  some  romance  of  1827,  per- 
fumed by  the  exotic  flowers  set  in  their  stands.  Another 
apartment  in  the  suite  was  a  gilded  reproduction  of  the  Louis 
Quatorze  period,  with  modern  paintings  on  the  walls  in  odd 
but  pleasant  contrast. 

"  '  You  would  not  be  so  badly  lodged,'  was  Rastignac's 
slightly  sarcastic  comment.  '  It  is  captivating,  isn't  it?'  he 
added,  smiling  as  he  sat  down.  Then  suddenly  he  rose,  and 
led  me  by  the  hand  into  a  bedroom,  where  the  softened  light 
fell  upon  the  bed  under  its  canopy  of  muslin  and  white 
watered  silk — a  couch  for  a  young  fairy  betrothed  to  one  of 
the  genii. 

"  '  Isn't  it  wantonly  bad  taste,  insolent  and  unbounded 
coquetry,'  he  said,  lowering  his  voice,  'that  allows  us  to  see 
this  throne  of  love?  She  gives  herself  to  no  one,  and  any- 
body may  leave  his  card  here.  If  I  were  not  committed,  I 
should  like  to  see  her  at  my  feet  all  tears  and  submission.' 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  107 

"  '  Are  you  so  certain  of  her  virtue?  ' 

"  'The  boldest  and  even  the  cleverest  adventurers  among 
us  acknowledge  themselves  defeated,  and  continue  to  be  her 
lovers  and  devoted  friends.  Isn't  that  woman  a  puzzle?' 

"  His  words  seemed  to  intoxicate  me;  I  had  jealous  fears 
already  of  the  past.  I  leaped  for  joy,  and  hurried  back  to  the 
Countess,  whom  I  had  seen  in  the  gothic  boudoir.  She 
stopped  me  by  a  smile,  made  me  sit  beside  her,  and  talked 
about  my  work,  seeming  to  take  the  greatest  interest  in  it, 
and  all  the  more  when  I  set  forth  my  theories  amusingly,  in- 
stead of  adopting  the  formal  language  of  a  professor  for  their 
explanation.  It  seemed  to  divert  her  to  be  told  that  the  hu- 
man will  was  a  material  force  like  steam  ;  that  in  the  moral 
world  nothing  could  resist  its  power  if  a  man  taught  himself 
to  concentrate  it,  to  economize  it,  and  to  project  continually 
its  fluid  mass  in  given  directions  upon  other  souls.  Such  a 
man,  I  said,  could  modify  all  things  relatively  to  man,  even 
the  peremptory  laws  of  nature.  The  questions  Foedora  raised 
showed  a  certain  keenness  of  intellect.  I  took  a  pleasure  in 
deciding  some  of  them  in  her  favor,  in  order  to  flatter  her ; 
then  I  confuted  her  feminine  reasoning  with  a  word,  and 
roused  her  curiosity  by  drawing  her  attention  to  an  every-day 
matter — to  sleep,  a  thing  so  apparently  commonplace  that  in 
reality  it  is  an  insoluble  problem  for  science.  The  Countess 
sat  in  silence  for  a  moment  when  I  told  her  that  our  ideas 
were  complete  organic  beings,  existing  in  an  invisible  world, 
and  influencing  our  destinies ;  and  for  witnesses  I  cited  the 
opinions  of  Descartes,  Diderot,  and  Napoleon,  who  had 
directed,  and  still  directed,  all  the  currents  of  the  age. 

"So  I  had  the  honor  of  amusing  this  woman;  she  asked 
me  to  come  to  see  her  when  she  left  me,  giving  me  lesgrandes 
entrees,  in  the  language  of  the  court.  Whether  it  was  by 
dint  of  substituting  polite  formulas  for  genuine  expressions  of 
feeling,  a  commendable  habit  of  mine,  or  because  Fcedora 
hailed  in  me  a  coming  celebrity,  an  addition  to  her  learned 


108  THE    WILD  ASS*   SKIN. 

menagerie;  for  some  reason  I  thought  I  had  pleased  her.  I 
called  all  my  previous  physiological  studies  and  knowledge  of 
woman  to  my  aid,  and  minutely  scrutinized  this  singular 
person  and  her  ways  all  the  evening.  I  concealed  myself 
in  the  embrasure  of  a  window,  and  sought  to  discover  her 
thoughts  from  her  bearing.  I  studied  the  tactics  of  the 
mistress  of  the  house,  as  she  came  and  went,  sat  and  chatted, 
beckoned  to  this  one  or  that,  asked  questions,  listened  to 
the  answers,  as  she  leaned  against  the  frame  of  the  door ; 
I  detected  a  languid  charm  in  her  movements,  a  grace  in 
the  flutterings  of  her  dress,  remarked  the  nature  of  the  feel- 
ings she  so  powerfully  excited,  and  became  very  incredulous 
as  to  her  virtue.  If  Foedora  would  none  of  love  to-day,  she 
had  had  strong  passions  at  some  time  ;  past  experience  of 
pleasure  showed  itself  in  the  attitudes  she  chose  in  conversa- 
tion, in  her  coquettish  way  of  leaning  against  the  panel  be- 
hind her,  she  seemed  scarcely  able  to  stand  alone,  and  yet 
ready  for  flight  from  too  bold  a  glance.  There  was  a  kind  of 
eloquence  about  her  lightly  folded  arms,  which,  even  for 
benevolent  eyes,  breathed  sentiment.  Her  fresh  red  lips 
sharply  contrasted  with  her  brilliantly  pale  complexion.  Her 
brown  hair  brought  out  all  the  golden  color  in  her  eyes,  in 
which  blue  streaks  mingled  as  in  Florentine  marble  ;  their  ex- 
pression seemed  to  increase  the  significance  of  her  words. 
A  studied  grace  lay  in  the  charms  of  her  bodice.  Perhaps  a 
rival  might  have  found  the  lines  of  the  thick  eyebrows,  which 
almost  met,  a  little  hard  ;  or  found  a  fault  in  the  almost  in- 
visible down  that  covered  her  features.  I  saw  the  signs  of 
passion  everywhere,  written  on  those  Italian  eyelids,  on  the 
splendid  shoulders  worthy  of  the  Venus  of  Milo,  on  her 
features,  in  the  darker  shade  of  down  above  a  somewhat  thick 
under-lip.  She  was  not  merely  a  woman,  but  a  romance. 
The  whole  blended  harmony  of  lines,  the  feminine  luxuriance 
of  her  frame,  and  its  passionate  promise,  were  subdued  by  a 
constant  inexplicable  reserve  and  modesty  at  variance  with 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  109 

everything  else  about  her.  It  needed  an  observation  as  keen 
as  my  own  to  detect  such  signs  as  these  in  her  character.  To 
explain  myself  more  clearly,  there  were  two  women  in  Fcedora, 
divided  perhaps  by  the  line  between  head  and  body ;  the  one, 
the  head  alone,  seemed  to  be  susceptible,  and  the  other 
phlegmatic.  She  prepared  her  glance  before  she  looked  at 
you,  something  unspeakably  mysterious,  some  inward  con- 
vulsion seemed  revealed  by  her  glittering  eyes. 

"  So,  to  be  brief,  either  my  imperfect  moral  science  had 
left  me  a  good  deal  to  learn  in  the  moral  world,  or  a  lofty  soul 
dwelt  in  the  Countess,  lent  to  her  face  those  charms  that  fas- 
cinated and  subdued  us,  and  gave  her  an  ascendancy  only  the 
more  complete  because  it  comprehended  a  sympathy  of  desire. 

"I  went  away  completely  enraptured  with  this  woman, 
dazzled  by  the  luxury  around  her,  gratified  in  every  faculty 
of  my  soul — noble  and  base,  good  and  evil.  When  I  felt 
myself  so  excited,  eager,  and  elated,  I  thought  I  understood 
the  attraction  that  drew  thither  those  artists,  diplomatists, 
men  in  office,  those  stock-jobbers  encased  in  triple  brass. 
They  came,  no  doubt,  to  find  in  her  society  the  delirious  emo- 
tion that  now  thrilled  through  every  fibre  in  me,  throbbing 
through  my  brain,  setting  the  blood  a-tingle  in  every  vein, 
fretting  even  the  tiniest  nerve.  And  she  had  given  herself  to 
none,  so  as  to  keep  them  all.  A  woman  is  a  coquette  so  long 
as  she  knows  not  love. 

"  'Well,'  I  said  to  Rastignac,  '  they  married  her,  or  sold 
her,  perhaps,  to  some  old  man,  and  recollections  of  her  first 
marriage  have  caused  her  aversion  for  love.' 

"I  walked  home  from  the  Faubourg  St.  Honor6,  where 
Foedora  lived.  Almost  all  the  breadth  of  Paris  lies  between 
her  mansion  and  the  Rue  des  Cordiers,  but  the  distance 
seemed  short,  in  spite  of  the  cold.  And  I  was  to  lay  siege 
to  Fcedora's  heart,  in  winter,  and  a  bitter  winter,  with  only 
thirty  francs  in  my  possession,  and  such  a  distance  as  that  lay 
between  us  !  Only  a  poor  man  knows  what  such  a  passion 


110  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

costs  in  cab-hire,  gloves,  linen,  tailor's  bills,  and  the  like. 
If  the  Platonic  stage  lasts  a  little  too  long,  the  affair  grows 
ruinous.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  there  is  many  a  Lauzun  among 
students  of  law,  who  find  it  impossible  to  approach  a  lady- 
love living  on  a  first  floor.  And  I,  sickly,  thin,  poorly 
dressed,  wan  and  pale  as  any  artist  convalescent  after  a  work, 
how  could  I  compete  with  other  young  men,  curled,  hand- 
some, smart,  outcravating  Croatia;  wealthy  men,  equipped 
with  tilburys,  and  armed  with  assurance  ? 

"  '  Bah,  death  or  Foedora  !  '  I  cried,  as  I  went  round  by  a 
bridge  ;  '  my  fortune  lies  in  Foedora.' 

"  That  gothic  boudoir  and  Louis  Quatorze  salon  came  be- 
fore my  eyes.  I  saw  the  Countess  again  in  her  white  dress 
with  its  large  graceful  sleeves,  and  all  the  fascinations  of  her 
form  and  movements.  These  pictures  of  Foedora  and  her 
luxurious  surroundings  haunted  me  even  in  my  bare,  cold 
garret,  when  at  last  I  reached  it,  as  disheveled  as  any  natural- 
ist's wig.  The  contrast  suggested  evil  counsel  ;  in  such  a 
way  crimes  are  conceived.  I  cursed  my  honest,  self-respect- 
ing poverty,  my  garret  where  such  teeming  fancies  had  stirred 
within  me.  I  trembled  with  fury,  I  reproached  God,  the 
devil,  social  conditions,  my  own  father,  the  whole  universe, 
indeed,  with  my  fate  and  my  misfortunes.  I  went  hungry  to 
bed,  muttering  ludicrous  imprecations,  but  fully  determined 
to  win  Fcedora.  Her  heart  was  my  last  ticket  in  the  lottery, 
my  fortune  depended  upon  it. 

"  I  spare  you  the  history  of  my  earlier  visits,  to  reach  the 
drama  the  sooner.  In  my  efforts  to  appeal  to  her,  I  essayed 
to  engage  her  intellect  and  her  vanity  on  my  side;  in  order 
to  secure  her  love,  I  gave  her  any  quantity  of  reasons  for 
increasing  her  self-esteem  ;  I  never  left  her  in  a  state  of  indif- 
ference ;  women  like  emotions  at  any  cost,  I  gave  them  to 
her  in  plenty ;  I  would  rather  have  had  her  angry  with  me 
than  indifferent. 

"  At  first,  urged  by  a  strong  will  and  a  desire  for  her  love,  I 


A    WO  MAX   WITHOUT  A    HEART.  Ill 

assumed  a  little  authority,  but  my  own  feelings  grew  stronger 
and  mastered  me ;  I  relapsed  into  truth,  I  lost  my  head,  and 
fell  desperately  in  love. 

"  I  am  not  very  sure  what  we  mean  by  the  word  love  in  our 
poetry  and  talk,  but  I  know  that  I  have  never  found  in  all  the 
ready  rhetorical  phrases  of  Jean  Jacques  Rousseau,  in  whose 
room  perhaps  I  was  lodging;  nor  among  the  feeble  inventions 
of  two  centuries  of  our  literature,  nor  in  any  picture  that 
Italy  has  produced,  a  representation  of  the  feelings  that  ex- 
panded all  at  once  in  my  double  nature.  The  view  of  the 
lake  of  Bienne,  some  music  of  Rossini's,  the  Madonna  of 
Murillo  now  in  the  possession  of  General  Soult,  Lescombat's 
letters,  a  few  sayings  scattered  through  collections  of  anec- 
dotes; but  most  of  all  the  prayers  of  religious  ecstatics,  and 
passages  in  our  fables — these  things  alone  have  power  to 
carry  me  back  to  the  divine  heights  of  my  first  love. 

"  Nothing  expressed  in  human  language,  no  thought  repro- 
ducible in  color,  marble,  sound,  or  articulate  speech,  could 
ever  render  the  force,  the  truth,  the  completeness,  the  sudden- 
ness with  which  love  awoke  in  me.  To  speak  of  art  is  to 
speak  of  illusion.  Love  passes  through  endless  transforma- 
tions before  it  passes  forever  into  our  existence  and  makes  it 
glow  with  its  own  color  of  flame.  The  process  is  imperceptible, 
and  baffles  the  artist's  analysis.  Its  moans  and  complaints 
are  tedious  to  an  uninterested  spectator.  One  would  need  to 
be  very  much  in  love  to  share  the  furious  transports  of  Love- 
lace, as  one  reads  '  Clarissa  Harlowe.'  Love  is  like  some 
fresh  spring,  that  leaves  its  cresses,  its  gravel  bed  and  flowers, 
to  become  first  a  stream  and  then  a  river,  changing  its  aspect 
and  its  nature  as  it  flows  to  plunge  itself  in  some  boundless 
ocean,  where  restricted  natures  only  find  monotony,  and  where 
great  souls  are  engulfed  in  endless  contemplation. 

"  How  can  I  dare  to  describe  the  hues  of  fleeting  emotions, 
the  nothings  beyond  all  price,  the  spoken  accents  that  beggar 
language,  the  looks  that  hold  more  than  all  the  wealth  of 


112  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

poetry?  Not  one  of  the  mysterious  scenes  that  draw  us  in- 
sensibly nearer  and  nearer  to  a  woman,  but  has  depths  in  it 
which  can  swallow  up  all  the  poetry  that  ever  was  written. 
How  can  the  inner  life  and  mystery  that  stirs  in  our  souls 
penetrate  through  our  glozes,  when  we  have  not  even  words  to 
describe  the  visible  and  outward  mysteries  of  beauty  ?  What 
enchantment  steeped  me  for  how  many  hours  in  unspeakable 
rapture,  filled  with  the  sight  of  her  !  What  made  me  happy? 
I  know  not.  That  face  of  hers  overflowed  with  light  at  such 
times ;  it  seemed  in  some  way  to  glow  with  it ;  the  outlines 
of  her  face,  with  the  scarcely  perceptible  down  on  its  delicate 
surface,  shone  with  a  beauty  belonging  to  the  far-distant  horizon 
that  melts  into  the  sunlight.  The  light  of  day  seemed  to 
caress  her  as  she  mingled  in  it;  rather  it  seemed  that  the  light  of 
her  eyes  was  brighter  than  the  daylight  itself;  or  some  shadow 
passing  over  that  fair  face  made  a  kind  of  change  there,  alter- 
ing its  hues  and  its  expression.  Some  thought  would  often 
seem  to  glow  on  her  white  brows  ;  her  eyes  appeared  to  dilate, 
and  her  eyelids  trembled  ;  a  smile  rippled  over  her  features  : 
the  living  coral  of  her  lips  grew  full  of  meaning  as  they  closed 
and  unclosed  ;  an  indistinguishable  something  in  her  hair  made 
brown  shadows  on  her  fair  temples  :  in  each  new  phase  Fcedora 
spoke.  Every  slight  variation  in  her  beauty  made  a  new 
pleasure  for  my  eyes,  disclosed  charms  my  heart  had  never 
known  before ;  I  tried  to  read  a  separate  emotion  or  a  hope 
in  every  change  that  passed  over  her  face.  This  mute  con- 
verse passed  between  soul  and  soul,  like  sound  and  answering 
echo;  and  the  short-lived  delights  then  showered  upon  me 
have  left  indelible  impressions  behind.  Her  voice  would 
cause  a  frenzy  in  me  that  I  could  hardly  understand.  I  could 
have  copied  the  example  of  some  prince  of  Lorraine,  and 
held  a  live  coal  in  the  hollow  of  my  hand,  if  her  fingers 
passed  caressingly  through  my  hair  the  while.  I  felt  no  longer 
mere  admiration  and  desire  :  I  was  under  the  spell ;  I  had 
met  my  destiny.  When  back  again  under  my  own  roof,  I 


A    WOMAN    WITHOUT  A    HEART.  113 

still  vaguely  saw  Fcedora  in  her  own  home,  and  had  some 
indefinable  share  in  her  life ;  if  she  felt  ill,  I  suffered  too. 
The  next  day  I  used  to  say  to  her — 

"  'You  were  not  well  yesterday.' 

"How  often  has  she  not  stood  before  me,  called  by  the 
power  of  ecstasy,  in  the  silence  of  the  night !  Sometimes 
she  would  break  in  upon  me  like  a  ray  of  light,  make  me  drop 
my  pen,  and  put  science  and  study  to  flight  in  grief  and  alarm, 
as  she  compelled  my  admiration  by  the  alluring  pose  I  had 
seen  but  a  short  time  before.  Sometimes  I  went  to  seek  her 
in  the  spirit  world,  and  would  bow  down  to  her  as  to  a  hope, 
entreating  her  to  let  me  hear  the  silvery  sounds  of  her  voice, 
and  I  would  wake  at  length  in  tears. 

"  Once,  when  she  had  promised  to  go  to  the  theatre  with 
me,  she  took  it  suddenly  into  her  head  to  refuse  to  go  out, 
and  begged  me  to  leave  her  alone.  I  was  in  such  despair 
over  the  perversity  which  cost  me  a  day's  work,  and  (if  I 
must  confess  it)  my  last  shilling  as  well,  that  I  went  alone 
where  she  was  to  have  been,  desiring  to  see  the  play  she  had 
wished  to  see.  I  had  scarcely  seated  myself  when  an  electric 
shock  went  through  me.  A  voice  told  me,  '  She  is  here  ! '  I 
looked  round,  and  saw  the  Countess  hidden  in  the  shadow  at 
the  back  of  her  box  in  the  first  tier.  My  look  did  not  waver; 
my  eyes  saw  her  at  once  with  incredible  clearness ;  my  soul 
hovered  about  her  life  like  an  insect  above  its  flower.  How 
had  my  senses  received  this  warning?  There  is  something  in 
these  inward  tremors  that  shallow  people  find  astonishing,  but 
t'le  phenomena  of  our  inner  consciousness  are  produced  as 
simply  as  those  of  external  vision  ;  so  I  was  not  surprised,  but 
much  vexed.  My  studies  of  our  mental  faculties,  so  little 
understood,  helped  me  at  any  rate  to  find  in  my  own  excite- 
ment some  living  proofs  of  my  theories.  There  was  some- 
thing exceedingly  odd  in  this  combination  of  lover  and  man 
of  science,  of  downright  idolatry  of  a  woman  with  the  love 
of  knowledge.  The  causes  of  the  lover's  despair  were  highly 


114  7'ffE    WILD  ASS*    SKIN. 

interesting  to  the  man  of  science ;  and  the  exultant  lover,  on  the 
other  hand,  put  science  far  away  from  him  in  his  joy.  Foedora 
saw  me,  and  grew  grave  :  I  annoyed  her.  I  went  to  her  box 
during  the  first  interval,  and,  finding  her  alone,  I  stayed  there. 
Although  we  had  not  spoken  of  love,  I  foresaw  an  explanation. 
I  had  not  told  her  my  secret,  still  there  was  a  kind  of  under- 
standing between  us.  She  used  to  tell  me  her  plans  for  amuse- 
ment, and  on  the  previous  evening  had  asked  with  friendly 
eagerness  if  I  meant  to  call  next  day.  After  any  witticism  of 
hers,  she  would  give  me  an  inquiring  glance,  as  if  she  had 
sought  to  please  me  alone  by  it.  She  would  soothe  me  if  I  was 
vexed :  and  if  she  pouted,  I  had  in  some  sort  a  right  to  ask 
an  explanation.  Before  she  would  pardon  any  blunder,  she 
would  keep  me  a  suppliant  forvlong.  All  these  things  that-  we 
so  relished  were  so  many  lovers'  quarrels.  What  arch  grace 
she  threw  into  it  all !  and  what  happiness  it  was  to  me  ! 

"But  now  we  stood  before  each  other  as  strangers,  with 
the  close  relation  between  us  both  suspended.  The  Countess 
was  glacial  :  a  presentiment  of  trouble  filled  me. 

"  '  Will  you  come  home  with  me  ?  '  she  said,  when  the  play 
was  over. 

"There  had  been  a  sudden  change  in  the  weather,  and 
sleet  was  falling  in  showers  as  we  went  out.  Foedora's  carriage 
was  unable  to  reach  the  doorway  of  the  theatre.  At  the  sight 
of  a  well-dressed  woman  about  to  cross  the  street,  a  commis- 
sionaire held  an  umbrella  above  us,  and  stood  waiting  at  the 
carriage-door  for  his  tip.  I  would  have  given  ten  years  of 
life  just  then  for  a  couple  of  halfpence,  but  I  had  not  a  penny. 
All  the  man  in  me  and  all  my  vainest  susceptibilities  were 
wrung  with  an  infernal  pain.  The  words,  '  I  haven't  a  penny 
about  me,  my  good  fellow  !  '  came  from  me  in  the  hard  voice 
of  thwarted  passion ;  and  yet  I  was  that  man's  brother  in 
misfortunes,  as  I  knew  too  well  ;  and  once  I  had  so  lightly 
paid  away  seven  hundred  thousand  francs  !  The  footman 
pushed  the  man  aside,  and  the  horses  sprang  forward  !  As 


A    WOMAN   WITHOU'I   A   HEART.  115 

we  returned,  Foedora,  in  real  or  feigned  abstraction,  answered 
all  my  questions  curtly  and  by  monosyllables,  I  said  no 
more  ;  it  was  a  hateful  moment.  When  we  reached  her  house, 
we  seated  ourselves  by  the  hearth,  and  when  the  servant  had 
stirred  the  fire  and  left  us  alone,  the  Countess  turned  to  me 
with  an  inexplicable  expression,  and  spoke.  Her  manner  was 
almost  solemn. 

"  '  Since  my  return  to  France,  more  than  one  young  man, 
tempted  by  my  money,  has  made  proposals  to  me  which 
would  have  satisfied  my  pride.  I  have  come  across  men, 
too,  whose  attachment  was  so  deep  and  sincere  that  they 
might  have  married  me  even  if  they  had  found  me  the 
penniless  girl  I  used  to  be.  Besides  these,  Monsieur  de  Val- 
entin, you  must  know  that  new  titles  and  newly-acquired 
wealth  have  been  also  offered  to  me,  and  that  I  have  never 
received  again  any  of  those  who  were  so  ill-advised  as  to 
mention  love  to  me.  If  my  regard  for  you  was  but  slight, 
I  would  not  give  you  this  warning,  which  is  dictated  by 
friendship  rather  than  by  pride.  A  woman  lays  herself  open  to 
a  rebuff  of  some  kind,  if  she  imagines  herself  to  be  loved, 
and  declines,  before  it  is  uttered,  to  listen  to  language  which 
in  its  nature  implies  a  compliment.  I  am  well  acquainted 
with  the  parts  played  by  Arsinoe  and  Araminta,  and  with 
the  sort  of  answer  I  might  look  for  under  such  circum- 
stances ;  but  I  hope  to-day  that  I  shall  not  find  myself  mis- 
construed by  a  man  of  no  ordinary  character,  because  I  have 
frankly  spoken  my  mind.' 

"  She  spoke  with  the  cool  self-possession  of  some  attorney 
or  solicitor  explaining  the  nature  of  a  contract  or  the  con- 
duct of  a  lawsuit  to  a  client.  There  was  not  the  least  sign  of 
feeling  in  the  clear  soft  tones  of  her  voice.  Her  steady  face 
and  dignified  bearing  seemed  to  me  now  full  of  diplomatic 
reserve  and  coldness.  She  had  planned  this  scene,  no  doubt, 
and  carefully  chosen  her  words  beforehand.  Oh,  my  friend, 
there  are  women  who  take  pleasure  in  piercing  hearts,  and 


116  THE    H'/f.D  ASS'    SKIX. 

deliberately  plunge  the  dagger  back  again  into  the  wound  ; 
such  women  as  these  cannot  but  be  worshipped,  for  such  women 
either  love  or  would  fain  be  loved.  A  day  comes  when 
they  make  amends  for  all  the  pain  they  gave  us;  they 
repay  us  for  the  pangs,  the  keenness  of  which  they  recog- 
nize, in  joys  a  hundredfold,  even  as  God,  they  tell  us,  recom- 
penses our  good  works.  Does  not  their  perversity  spring 
from  the  strength  of  their  feelings  ?  But  to  be  so  tortured 
by  a  woman,  who  slaughters  you  with  indifference  !  was  not 
the  suffering  intolerable  ? 

"  Fcedora  did  not  know  it,  but  in  that  minute  she  trampled 
all  my  hopes  beneath  her  feet ;  she  maimed  my  life  and  she 
blighted  my  future  with  the  cool  indifference  and  unconscious 
barbarity  of  an  inquisitive  child  who  plucks  its  wings  from  a 
butterfly. 

"'Later  on,'  resumed  Fcedora,  'you  will  learn,  I  hope, 
the  stability  of  the  affection  that  I  keep  for  my  friends.  You 
will  always  find  that  I  have  devotion  and  kindness  for  them. 
I  would  give  my  life  to  serve  my  friends  ;  but  you  could  only 
despise  me,  if  I  allowed  them  to  make  love  to  me  without 
return.  That  is  enough.  You  are  the  only  man  to  whom  I 
have  spoken  such  words  as  these  last. ' 

"  At  first  I  could  not  speak,  or  master  the  tempest  that 
arose  within  me;  but  I  soon  repressed  my  emotions  in  the 
depths  of  my  soul,  and  began  to  smile. 

"  '  If  I  own  that  I  love  you,'  I  said,  'you  will  banish  me  at 
once  ;  if  I  plead  guilty  to  indifference  you  will  make  me 
suffer  for  it.  Women,  magistrates,  and  priests  never  quite  lay 
the  gown  aside.  Silence  is  non-committal ;  be  pleased  then, 
madame,  to  approve  my  silence.  You  must  have  feared,  in 
some  degree,  to  lose  me,  or  I  should  not  have  received  this 
friendly  admonition  ;  and  with  that  thought  my  pride  ought 
to  be  satisfied.  Let  us  banish  all  personal  considerations. 
You  are  perhaps  the  only  woman  with  whom  I  could  discuss 
rationally  a  resolution  so  contrary  to  the  laws  of  nature.  Con- 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  117 

sidered  with  regard  to  your  species,  you  are  a  prodigy.  Now 
let  us  investigate,  in  good  faith,  the  causes  of  this  psycholog- 
ical anomaly.  Does  there  exist  in  you,  as  in  many  women,  a 
certain  pride  in  self,  a  love  of  your  own  loveliness,  a  refine- 
ment of  egotism  which  makes  you  shudder  at  the  idea  of 
belonging  to  another;  is  it  the  thought  of  resigning  your 
own  will  and  submitting  to  a  superiority,  though  only  of  con- 
vention, which  displeases  you?  You  would  seem  to  me  a 
thousand  times  the  fairer  for  it.  Can  love  formerly  have 
brought  you  suffering  ?  You  probably  set  some  value  on  your 
dainty  figure  and  graceful  appearance,  and  may  perhaps  wish 
to  avoid  the  disfigurements  of  maternity.  Is  not  this  one  of 
your  strongest  reasons  for  refusing  a  too  importunate  love  ? 
Some  natural  defect  perhaps  makes  you  insusceptible  in  spite 
of  yourself?  Do  not  be  angry ;  my  study,  my  inquiry  is 
absolutely  dispassionate.  Some  are  born  blind,  and  nature 
may  easily  have  formed  women  who  in  like  manner  are 
blind,  deaf,  and  dumb  to  love.  You  are  really  an  interesting 
subject  for  medical  investigation.  You  do  not  know  your 
value.  You  feel  perhaps  a  very  legitimate  distaste  for  man- 
kind ;  in  that  I  quite  concur — to  me  they  all  seem  ugly  and 
detestable.  And  you  are  right,'  I  added,  feeling  my  heart 
swell  within  me;  '  how  can  you  do  otherwise  than  despise  us? 
There  is  not  a  man  living  who  is  worthy  of  you.' 

"I  will  not  repeat  all  the  biting  words  with  which  I  ridi- 
culed her.  In  vain  ;  my  bitterest  sarcasms  and  keenest  irony 
never  made  her  wince  nor  elicited  a  sign  of  vexation.  She 
heard  me,  with  the  customary  smile  upon  her  lips  and  in  her 
eyes,  the  smile  that  she  wore  as  a  part  of  her  clothing,  and 
that  never  varied  for  friends,  for  mere  acquaintances,  or  for 
strangers. 

"'Isn't  it  very  nice  of  me  to  allow  you  to  dissect  me 
like  this  ? '  she  said  at  last,  as  I  came  to  a  temporary  stand- 
still, and  looked  at  her  in  silence.  'You  see,'  she  went  on, 
laughing,  '  that  I  have  no  foolish  over-sensitiveness  about 


118  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

my    friendship.      Many    a  woman    would    shut  her  door  on 
you  by  way  of  punishing  you  for  your  impertinence.' 

"  'You  could  banish  me  without  needing  to  give  me  the 
reasons  for  your  harshness.'  As  I  spoke  I  felt  that  I  could 
kill  her  if  she  dismissed  me. 

"'You  are  mad,'  she  said,  smiling  still. 

"  'Did  you  never  think,'  I  went  on,  'of  the  effects  of 
passionate  love  ?  A  desperate  man  has  often  murdered  his 
mistress. 

"  '  It  is  better  to  die  than  to  live  in  misery,'  she  said 
coolly.  '  Such  a  man  as  that  would  run  through  his  wife's 
money,  desert  her,  and  leave  her  at  last  in  utter  wretch- 
edness.' 

"This  calm  calculation  dumbfounded  me.  The  gulf 
between  us  was  made  plain  ;  we  could  never  understand  each 
other. 

"  '  Good-bye,'  I  said  proudly. 

"'Good-bye,  till  to-morrow,'  she  answered,  with  a  little 
friendly  bow. 

"For  a  moment's  space  I  hurled  at  her  in  a  glance  all  the 
love  I  must  forego ;  she  stood  there  with  that  banal  smile  of 
hers,  the  detestable  chill  smile  of  a  marble  statue,  with  none 
of  the  warmth  in  it  that  it  seemed  to  express.  Can  you  form 
any  idea,  my  friend,  of  the  pain  that  overcame  me  on  the 
way  home  through  rain  and  snow,  across  a  league  of  icy- 
sheeted  quays,  without  a  hope  left?  Oh,  to  think  that  she 
not  only  had  not  guessed  my  poverty,  but  believed  me  to  be 
as  wealthy  as  she  was,  and  likewise  borne  as  softly  over  the 
rough  ways  of  life  !  What  failure  and  deceit !  It  was  no 
mere  question  of  money  now,  but  of  the  fate  of  all  that  lay 
within  me. 

"  I  went  at  haphazard,  going  over  the  words  of  our  strange 
conversation  with  myself.  I  got  so  thoroughly  lost  in  my 
reflections  that  I  ended  by  doubts  as  to  the  actual  value  of 
words  and  ideas.  But  I  loved  her  all  the  same ;  I  loved  this 


A    WOMAN    WITHOUT  A    HEART.  119 

woman  with  the  untouched  heart  that  might  surrender  at  any 
moment — a  woman  who  daily  disappointed  the  expectations 
of  the  previous  evening,  by  appearing  as  a  new  mistress  on 
the  morrow. 

"  As  I  passed  under  the  gateway  of  the  Institute,  a  fevered 
thrill  ran  through  me.  I  remembered  that  I  was  fasting,  and 
that  I  had  not  a  penny.  To  complete  the  measure  of  my 
misfortune,  my  hat  was  spoiled  by  the  rain.  How  was  I  to 
appear  in  the  drawing-room  of  a  woman  of  fashion  with  an 
unpresentable  hat !  I  had  always  cursed  the  inane  and  stupid 
custom  that  compels  us  to  exhibit  the  lining  of  our  hats,  and 
to  keep  them  always  in  our  hands,  but  with  anxious  care  I  had 
so  far  kept  mine  in  a  precarious  state  of  efficiency.  It  had 
been  neither  strikingly  new,  nor  utterly  shabby,  neither  nap- 
less nor  over-glossy,  and  might  have  passed  for  the  hat  of  a 
frugally  given  owner;  but  its  artificially  prolonged  existence 
had  now  reached  the  final  stage,  it  was  crumpled,  forlorn,  and 
completely  ruined,  a  downright  rag,  a  fitting  emblem  of  its 
master.  My  painfully  preserved  elegance  must  collapse  for 
want  of  thirty  sous. 

"  What  unrecognized  sacrifices  I  had  made  in  the  past  three 
months  for  Fcedora  !  How  often  I  had  given  the  price  of  a 
week's  sustenance  to  see  her  for  a  moment !  To  leave  my 
work  and  go  without  food  was  the  least  of  it  !  I  must  traverse 
the  streets  of  Paris  without  getting  splashed,  run  to  escape 
showers,  and  reach  her  rooms  at  last,  as  neat  and  spruce  as 
any  of  the  coxcombs  about  her.  For  a  poet  and  a  distracted 
wooer  the  difficulties  of  this  task  were  endless.  My  happiness, 
the  course  of  my  love,  might  be  affected  by  a  speck  of  mud 
upon  my  only  white  waistcoat  !  Oh,  to  miss  the  sight  of  her 
because  I  was  wet  through  and  bedraggled,  and  had  not  so 
much  as  five  sous  to  give  to  a  shoeblack  for  removing  the  least 
little  spot  of  mud  from  my  boot !  The  petty  pangs  of  the^e 
nameless  torments,  which  an  irritable  man  finds  so  great,  only 
strengthened  my  passion. 


120  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

"The  unfortunate  must  make  sacrifices  which  they  may  not 
mention  to  women  who  lead  refined  and  luxurious  lives.  Such 
women  see  things  through  a  prism  that  gilds  all  men  and  their 
surroundings.  Egoism  leads  them  to  take  cheerful  views,  and 
fashion  makes  them  cruel ;  they  do  not  wish  to  reflect,  lest 
they  lose  their  happiness,  and  the  absorbing  nature  of  their 
pleasures  absolves  their  indifference  to  the  misfortunes  of 
others.  A  penny  never  means  millions  to  them  ;  millions,  on 
the  contrary,  seem  a  mere  trifle.  Perhaps  love  must  plead 
his  cause  by  great  sacrifices,  but  a  veil  must  be  lightly  drawn 
across  them,  they  must  go  down  into  silence.  So  when  wealthy 
men  pour  out  their  devotion,  their  fortunes,  and  their  lives, 
they  gain  somewhat  by  these  commonly  entertained  opinions, 
an  additional  lustre  hangs  about  their  lovers'  follies ;  their 
silence  is  eloquent ;  there  is  a  grace  about  the  drawn  veil ; 
but  my  terrible  distress  bound  me  over  to  suffer  fearfully  ere 
I  might  speak  of  my  love  or  of  dying  for  her  sake. 

"  Was  it  a  sacrifice  after  all?  Was  I  not  richly  rewarded 
by  the  joy  I  took  in  sacrificing  everything  to  her?  There  was 
no  ordinary  event  of  my  daily  life  to  which  the  Countess  had 
not  given  importance,  had  not  overfilled  with  happiness.  I  had 
been  hitherto  careless  of  my  clothes,  now  I  respected  my  coat 
as  if  it  had  been  a  second  self.  I  should  not  have  hesitated 
between  bodily  harm  and  a  tear  in  that  garment.  You  must 
enter  wholly  into  my  circumstances  to  understand  the  stormy 
thoughts,  the  gathering  frenzy,  that  shook  me  as  I  went,  and 
which,  perhaps,  were  increased  by  my  walk.  I  gloated  in  an 
infernal  fashion  which  I  cannot  describe  over  the  absolute 
completeness  of  my  wretchedness.  I  would  have  drawn  from 
it  an  augury  of  my  future,  but  there  is  no  limit  to  the  possi- 
bilities of  misfortune.  The  door  of  my  lodging-house  stood 
ajar.  A  light  streamed  from  the  heart-shaped  opening  cut  in 
the  shutters.  Pauline  and  her  mother  were  sitting  up  for  me 
and  talking.  I  heard  my  name  spoken  and  listened. 

"'Raphael  is  much  nicer-looking  than  the  student  in  num- 


A    WOMAN    WITHOUT  A    HEART.  121 

ber  seven,'  said  Pauline;  '  his  fair  hair  is  such  a  pretty  color. 
Don't  you  think  there  is  something  in  his  voice,  too,  I  don't 
know  what  it  is,  that  gives  you  a  sort  of  thrill?  And,  then, 
though  he  may  be  a  little  proud,  he  is  very  kind,  and  he  has 
such  fine  manners ;  I  am  sure  that  all  the  ladies  must  be  quite 
wild  about  him.' 

"  'You  might  be  fond  of  him  yourself,  to  hear  you  talk,' 
was  Madame  Gaudin's  comment. 

"  '  He  is  just  as  dear  to  me  as  a  brother,'  she  laughingly 
replied.  '  1  should  be  finely  ungrateful  if  I  felt  no  friendship 
for  him.  Didn't  he  teach  me  music  and  drawing  and  gram- 
mar, and  everything  I  know  in  fact?  You  don't  much  notice 
how  I  get  on,  dear  mother;  but  I  shall  know  enough,  after  a 
while,  to  give  lessons  myself,  and  then  we  can  keep  a  servant.' 

"  I  stole  away  softly,  made  some  noise  outside,  and  went 
into  their  room  to  take  the  lamp,  that  Pauline  tried  to  light 
for  me.  The  dear  child  had  just  poured  soothing  balm  into 
my  wounds.  Her  outspoken  admiration  had  given  me  fresh 
courage.  I  so  needed  to  believe  in  myself  and  to  come  by 
a  just  estimate  of  my  advantages.  This  revival  of  hope  in 
me  perhaps  colored  my  surroundings.  Perhaps,  also,  I  had 
never  before  really  looked  at  the  picture  that  so  often  met  my 
eyes,  of  the  two  women  in  their  room ;  it  was  a  scene  such  as 
Flemish  painters  have  reproduced  so  faithfully  for  us,  that  I 
admired  it  in  its  delightful  reality.  The  mother,  with  the 
kind  smile  upon  her  lips,  sat  knitting  stockings  by  the  dying 
fire ;  Pauline  was  painting  hand-screens,  her  brushes  and 
paints,  strewn  over  the  tiny  table,  made  bright  spots  of  color 
for  the  eye  to  dwell  on.  When  she  had  left  her  seat  and  stood 
lighting  my  lamp,  one  must  have  been  under  the  yoke  of  a 
terrible  passion,  indeed,  not  to  admire  her  faintly  flushed  trans- 
parent hands,  the  girlish  charm  of  her  attitude,  the  ideal  grace 
of  her  head,  as  the  lamplight  fell  full  on  her  pale  face.  Night 
and  silence  added  to  the  charms  of  this  industrious  vigil  and 
peaceful  interior.  The  light-heartedness  that  sustained  such 


122  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIAT. 

continuous  toil  could  only  spring  from  devout  submission  and 
the  lofty  feelings  that  it  brings. 

"  There  was  an  indescribable  harmony  between  them  and 
their  possessions.  The  splendor  of  Foedora's  home  did  not 
satisfy;  it  called  out  all  my  worst  instincts;  something  in  this 
lowly  poverty  and  unfeigned  goodness  revived  me.  It  may 
have  been  that  luxury  abased  me  in  my  own  eyes,  while  here 
my  self-respect  was  restored  to  me,  as  I  sought  to  extend  the 
protection  that  a  man  is  so  eager  to  make  felt,  over  these  two 
women,  who  in  the  bare  simplicity  of  the  existence  in  their 
brown  room  seemed  to  live  wholly  in  the  feelings  of  their 
hearts.  As  I  came  up  to  Pauline,  she  looked  at  me  in  an 
almost  motherly  way ;  her  hands  shook  a  little  as  she  held  the 
lamp,  so  that  the  light  fell  on  me,  and  cried — 

'"Dieu!  how  pale  you  are!  and  you  are  wet  through! 
My  mother  will  try  to  wipe  you  dry.  Monsieur  Raphael,'  she 
went  on,  after  a  little  pause,  '  you  are  so  very  fond  of  milk, 
and  to-night  we  happen  to  have  some  cream.  Here,  will  you 
not  take  some  ?  ' 

"  She  pounced  like  a  kitten,  on  a  china  bowl  full  of  milk. 
She  did  it  so  quickly,  and  put  it  before  me  so  prettily,  that  I 
hesitated. 

"  'You  are  going  to  refuse  me?'  she  said,  and  her  tones 
changed. 

"The  pride  in  each  felt  for  the  other's  pride.  It  was 
Pauline's  poverty  that  seemed  to  humiliate  her,  and  to  re- 
proach me  with  want  of  consideration,  and  I  melted  at  once, 
and  accepted  the  cream  that  might  have  been  meant  for  her 
morning's  breakfast.  The  poor  child  tried  not  to  show  her 
joy,  but  her  eyes  sparkled. 

"  '  I  needed  it  badly,'  I  said  as  I  sat  down.  (An  anxious 
look  passed  over  her  face.)  'Do  you  remember  that  pass- 
age, Pauline,  where  Bossuet  tells  how  God  gives  more  abun- 
dant reward  for  a  cup  of  cold  water  than  for  a  vic- 
tory?' 


A    WOMAN    WITHOUT  A    HEART.  12;} 

"  '  Yes,'  she  said,  her  heart  beating  like  some  wild  bird's  in 
a  child's  hands. 

"  '  Well,  as  we  shall  part  very  soon,  now,'  I  went  on  in  an 
unsteady  voice,  '  you  must  let  me  show  my  gratitude  to  you 
and  to  your  mother  for  all  the  care  you  have  taken  of  me.' 

"  '  Oh,  don't  let  us  cast  accounts,'  she  said,  laughing. 
But  her  laughter  covered  an  agitation  that  gave  me  pain.  I 
went  on  without  appearing  to  hear  her  words — 

"  '  My  piano  is  one  of  Erard's  best  instruments;  and  you 
must  take  it.  Pray  accept  it  without  hesitation ;  I  really 
could  not  take  it  with  me  on  the  journey  I  am  about  to  make.' 

"  Perhaps  the  melancholy  tones  in  which  I  spoke  enlight- 
ened the  two  women,  for  they  seemed  to  understand,  and 
eyed  me  with  curiosity  and  alarm.  Here  was  the  affection 
that  I  had  looked  for  in  the  glacial  regions  of  the  great  world, 
true  affection,  unostentatious  but  tender,  and  possibly  lasting. 

"  '  Don't  take  it  to  heart  so,'  the  mother  said  ;  '  stay  on 
here.  My  husband  is  on  his  way  towards  us  even  now,'  she 
went  on.  '  I  looked  into  the  Gospel  of  St.  John  this  evening 
while  Pauline  hung  our  door-key  in  a  Bible  from  her  fingers. 
The  key  turned ;  that  means  that  Gaudin  is  in  health  and 
doing  well.  Pauline  began  again  for  you  and  for  the  young 
man  in  number  seven — it  turned  for  you,  but  not  for  him. 
We  are  all  going  to  be  rich.  Gaudin  will  come  back  a  mil- 
lionaire. I  dreamed  once  that  I  saw  him  in  a  ship  full  of 
serpents  ;  luckily  the  water  was  rough,  and  that  means  gold 
or  precious  stones  from  over-sea.' 

"  The  silly,  friendly  words  were  like  the  crooning  lullaby 
with  which  a  mother  soothes  her  sick  child  ;  they  in  a  manner 
calmed  me.  There  was  a  pleasant  heaftiness  in  the  worthy 
woman's  looks  and  tones,  which,  if  it  could  not  remove 
trouble,  at  any  rate  soothed  and  quieted  it,  and  deadened  the 
pain.  Pauline,  keener-sighted  than  her  mother,  studied  me 
uneasily;  her  quick  eyes  seemed  to  read  my  life  and  my 
future.  I  thanked  the  mother  and  daughter  by  an  inclination 


124  THE    WILD  ASS'    SJCJN. 

of  the  head,  and  turned  away ;  I  was  afraid  I  should  break 
down. 

"I  found  myself  alone  under  my  roof,  and  laid  myself 
down  in  my  misery.  My  unhappy  imagination  suggested 
numberless  baseless  projects,  and  prescribed  impossible  resolu- 
tions. When  a  man  is  struggling  in  the  wreck  of  his  fortunes, 
he  is  not  quite  without  resources,  but  I  was  engulfed.  Ah, 
my  dear  fellow,  we  are  too  ready  to  blame  the  wretched.  Let 
us  be  less  harsh  on  the  results  of  the  most  powerful  of  all 
social  solvents.  Where  poverty  is  absolute  there  exist  no  such 
things  as  shame  or  crime,  or  virtue  or  intelligence.  I  knew 
not  what  to  do ;  I  was  as  defenceless  as  a  maiden  on  her  knees 
before  a  beast  of  prey.  A  penniless  man  who  has  no  ties  to 
bind  him  is  master  of  himself  at  any  rate,  but  a  luckless 
wretch  who  is  in  love  no  longer  belongs  to  himself,  and  may 
not  take  his  own  life.  Love  makes  us  almost  sacred  in  our 
own  eyes ;  it  is  the  life  of  another  that  we  revere  within  us 
then  ;  and  so  begins  for  us  the  cruellest  trouble  of  all — the 
misery  with  a  hope  in  it,  a  hope  for  which  we  must  even  bear 
our  torments.  I  thought  I  would  go  to  Rastignac  on  the 
morrow  to  confide  Foedora's  strange  resolution  to  him,  and 
with  that  I  slept. 

"  '  Ah,  ha  !  '  cried  Rastignac,  as  he  saw  me  enter  his  lodg- 
ing at  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning.  '  I  know  what  brings 
you  here.  Foedora  has  dismissed  you.  Some  kind  souls,  who 
were  jealous  of  your  ascendency  over  the  Countess,  gave  out 
that  you  were  going  to  be  married.  Heaven  only  knows 
what  follies  your  rivals  have  equipped  you  with,  and  what 
slanders  have  been  directed  at  you.' 

"  '  That  explains  everything  !  '  I  exclaimed.  I  remembered 
all  my  presumptuous  speeches,  and  gave  the  Countess  credit 
for  no  little  magnanimity.  It  pleased  me  to  think  that  I  was 
a  miscreant  who  had  not  been  punished  nearly  enough,  and  I 
saw  nothing  in  her  indulgence  but  the  long-suffering  charity 
of  love. 


A    WO  MAX   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  125 

"  '  Not  quite  so  fast,'  urged  the  prudent  Gascon  ;  '  Fcedora 
has  all  the  sagacity  natural  to  a  profoundly  selfish  woman  ; 
perhaps  she  may  have  taken  your  measure  while  you  still 
coveted  only  her  money  and  her  splendor  ;  in  spite  of  all 
your  care,  she  could  have  read  you  through  and  through.  She 
can  dissemble  far  too  well  to  let  any  dissimulation  pass  unde- 
tected. I  fear,'  he  went  on,  '  that  I  have  brought  you  into  a 
bad  way.  In  spite  of  her  cleverness  and  her  tact,  she  seems 
to  me  a  domineering  sort  of  person,  like  every  woman  who 
can  only  feel  pleasure  through  her  brain.  Happiness  for  her 
lies  entirely  in  a  comfortable  life  and  in  social  pleasures ;  her 
sentiment  is  only  assumed  ;  she  will  make  you  miserable ; 
you  will  be  her  head  footman.' 

"  He  spoke  to  the  deaf.  I  broke  in  upon  him,  disclosing, 
with  an  affectation  of  light-heartedness,  the  state  of  my 
finances. 

"  'Yesterday  evening,'  he  rejoined,  Muck  ran  against  me, 
and  that  carried  off  all  my  available  cash.  But  for  that 
trivial  mishap,  I  would  gladly  have  shared  my  purse  with  you. 
But  let  us  go  and  breakfast  at  the  restaurant ;  perhaps  there 
is  good  counsel  in  oysters.' 

"  He  dressed,  and  had  his  tilbury  brought  round.  We 
went  to  the  Cafe  de  Paris  like  a  couple  of  millionaires,  armed 
with  all  the  audacious  impertinence  of  the  speculator  whose 
capital  is  imaginary.  That  devil  of  a  Gascon  quite  discon- 
certed me  by  the  coolness  of  his  manners  and  his  absolute 
self-possession.  While  we  were  taking  coffee  after  an  excel- 
lent and  well-ordered  repast,  a  young  dandy  entered,  who 
did  not  escape  Rastignac.  He  had  been  nodding  here  and 
there  among  the  crowd  to  this  or  that  young  man,  distin- 
guished both  by  personal  attractions  and  elegant  attire,  and 
now  he  said  to  me — 

"  '  Here's  your  man,'  as  he  beckoned  to  this  gentleman 
with  a  wonderful  cravat,  who  seemed  to  be  looking  for  a  table 
that  suited  his  ideas. . 
9 


126  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

"  'That  rogue  has  been  decorated  for  bringing  out  books 
that  he  doesn't  understand  a  word  of,'  whispered  Rastignac ; 
'he  is  a  chemist,  a  historian,  a  novelist,  and  a  political  writer ; 
he  has  gone  halves,  thirds,  or  quarters  in  the  authorship  of  I 
don't  know  how  many  plays,  and  he  is  as  ignorant  as  Dom 
Miguel's  mule.  He  is  not  a  man  so  much  as  a  name,  a  label 
that  the  public  is  familiar  with.  So  he  would  do  well  to  avoid 
shops  inscribed  with  the  motto,  "  IciT onpeutteriresoi-m&me"* 
He  is  acute  enough  to  deceive  an  entire  congress  of  diplo- 
matists. In  a  couple  of  words,  he  is  a  moral  half-caste,  not 
quite  a  fraud,  nor  entirely  genuine.  But,  hush  !  he  has  suc- 
ceeded already ;  nobody  asks  anything  further,  and  every  one 
calls  him  an  illustrious  man.' 

"'Well,  my  esteemed  and  excellent  friend,  and  how  may 
your  intelligence  be  ?  '  So  Rastignac  addressed  the  stranger 
as  he  sat  down  at  a  neighboring  table. 

"  '  Neither  well  nor  ill ;  I  am  overwhelmed  with  work.  I 
have  all  the  necessary  materials  for  some  very  curious  historical 
memoirs  in  my  hands,  and  I  cannot  find  any  one  to  whom  I 
can  ascribe  them.  It  worries  me,  for  I  shall  have  to  be  quick 
about  it.  Memoirs  are  falling  out  of  fashion.' 

"  '  What  are  the  memoirs — contemporaneous,  ancient,  or 
memoirs  of  the  court,  or  what  ?  ' 

"  '  They  relate  to  the  Necklace  affair.' 

"  '  Now,  isn't  that  a  coincidence? '  said  Rastignac,  turning 
to  me  and  laughing.  He  looked  again  to  the  literary  specu- 
lator, and  said,  indicating  me — 

"  '  This  is  M.  de  Valentin,  one  of  my  friends,  whom  I  must 
introduce  to  you  as  one  of  our  future  literary  celebrities.  He 
had  formerly  an  aunt,  a  marquise,  much  in  favor  once  at  court, 
and  for  about  two  years  he  has  been  writing  a  Royalist  history 
of  the  Revolution.' 

"Then,  bending  over  this  singular  man  of  business,  he 
went  on — 

*  "  Here  one  may  compose  himself." 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  127 

"  '  He  is  a  man  of  talent,  and  a  simpleton  that  will  do  your 
memoirs  for  you,  in  his  aunt's  name,  for  a  hundred  crowns  a 
volume.1 

"  '  It's  a  bargain,'  said  the  other,  adjusting  his  cravat. 
'  Waiter,  my  oysters. ' 

"  '  Yes,  but  you  must  give  me  twenty-five  louis  as  commis- 
sion, and  you  will  pay  him  in  advance  for  each  volume,'  said 
Rastignac. 

"  '  No,  no.     He  shall  only  have  fifty  crowns  on  account, 

and  then  I  shall  be  sure  of  having  my  manuscript  punctually.' 

"  Rastignac  repeated  this  business  conversation  to   me  in 

low   tones;  and   then,   without  giving  me  any  voice   in   the 

matter,  he  replied — 

"'We  agree  to  your  proposal.  When  can  we  call  upon 
you  to  arrange  the  affair?  ' 

"'Oh,  well!  Come  and  dine  here  to-morrow  at  seven 
o'clock.' 

"We  rose.  Rastignac  flung  some  money  to  the  waiter,  put 
the  bill  in  his  pocket,  and  we  went  out.  I  was  quite  stupefied 
by  the  flippancy  and  ease  with  which  he  had  sold  my  vener- 
able aunt,  la  Marquise  de  Montbauron. 

"  *  I  would  sooner  take  ship  for  the  Brazils,  and  give  the 
Indians  lessons  in  algebra,  though  I  don't  know  a  word  of  it, 
than  tarnish  my  family  name.' 
"  Rastignac  burst  out  laughing. 

"  '  How  dense  you  are!  Take  the  fifty  crowns  in  the  first 
instance,  and  write  the  memoirs.  When  you  have  finished 
them,  you  will  decline  to  publish  them  in  your  aunt's  name, 
imbecile  !  Madame  de  Montbauron,  with  her  hooped  petti- 
coat, her  rank  and  beauty,  rouge  and  slippers,  and  her  death 
upon  the  scaffold,  is  worth  a  great  deal  more  than  six  hundred 
francs.  And  then,  if  the  trade  will  not  give  your  aunt  her 
due,  some  old  adventurer,  or  some  shady  countess  or  other, 
will  be  found  to  put  her  name  to  the  memoirs.' 

"  '  Oh,'  I  groaned  ;  '  why  did  I  quit  the  blameless  life  in 


128  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

my  garret  ?  This  world  has  aspects  that  are  very  vilely  dis- 
honorable.' 

"  '  Yes,'  said  Rastignac,  "  that  is  all  very  poetical,  but  this 
is  a  matter  of  business.  What  a  child  you  are  !  Now,  listen 
to  me.  As  to  your  work,  the  public  will  decide  upon  it ;  and 
as  for  my  literary  middle-man,  hasn't  he  devoted  eight  vyears 
of  his  life  to  obtaining  a  footing  in  the  book-trade,  and  paid 
heavily  for  his  experience  ?  You  divide  the  money  and  the 
labor  of  the  book  with  him  very  unequally,  but  isn't  yours  the 
better  part  ?  Twenty-five  louis  means  as  much  to  you  as  a 
thousand  francs  does  to  him.  Come,  you  can  write  historical 
memoirs,  a  work  of  art  such  as  never  was,  since  Diderot  once 
wrote  six  sermons  for  a  hundred  crowns  ? ' 

"  'After  all,'  I  said,  in  agitation,  'I  cannot  choose  but  do 
it.  So,  my  dear  friend,  my  thanks  are  due  to  you.  I  shall 
be  quite  rich  with  twenty-five  louis.' 

" '  Richer  than  you  think,'  he  laughed.  '  If  I  have  my  com- 
mission from  Finot  in  this  matter,  it  goes  to  you,  can't  you 
see?  Now  let  us  go  to  the  Bois  de  Boulogne,'  he  said;  'we 
shall  see  your  Countess  there,  and  I  will  show  you  the  pretty 
little  widow  that  I  am  to  marry — a  charming  woman,  an 
Alsacienne,  rather  plump.  She  reads  Kant,  Schiller,  Jean 
Paul,  and  a  host  of  lachrymose  books.  She  has  a  mania  for 
continually  asking  my  opinion,  and  I  have  to  look  as  if  I 
entered  into  all  this  German  sensibility,  and  to  know  a  pack 
of  ballads — drugs,  all  of  them,  that  my  doctor  absolutely 
prohibits.  As  yet  I  have  not  been  able  to  wean  her  from  her 
literary  enthusiasms ;  she  sheds  torrents  of  tears  as  she  reads 
Goethe,  and  I  have  to  weep  a  little  myself  to  please  her,  for 
she  has  an  income  of  fifty  thousand  livres,  my  dear  boy,  and 
the  prettiest  little  hand  and  foot  in  the  world.  Oh,  if  she 
would  only  say  my  angel  and  grumbler  instead  of  my  flute 
and  my  fumbler,  she  would  be  perfection  !  ' 

"We  saw  the  Countess,  radiant  amid  the  splendors  of  her 
equipage.  The  coquette  bowed  very  graciously  to  us  both, 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A    HEART.  129 

and  the  smile  she  gave  me  seemed  to  me  to  be  divine  and  full 
of  love.  I  was  very  happy ;  I  fancied  myself  beloved  ;  I  had 
money,  a  wealth  of  love  in  my  heart,  and  my  troubles  were 
over.  I  was  light-hearted,  blithe,  and  content.  I  found  my 
friend's  lady-love  charming.  Earth  and  air  and  heaven — all 
nature — seemed  to  reflect  Fcedora's  smile  for  me. 

"As  we  returned  through  the  Champs-Elysees,  we  paid  a 
visit  to  Rastignac's  hatter  and  tailor.  Thanks  to  the  '  Neck- 
lace,' my  insignificant  peace-footing  was  to  end,  and  I  made 
formidable  preparations  for  a  campaign.  Henceforward  I 
need  not  shrink  from  a  contest  with  the  spruce  and  fashionable 
young  men  who  made  Fcedora's  circle.  I  went  home,  locked 
myself  in,  and  stood  by  my  dormer  window,  outwardly  calm 
enough,  but  in  reality  I  bade  a  last  good-bye  to  the  roofs 
without.  I  began  to  live  in  the  future,  rehearsed  my  life 
drama,  and  discounted  love  and  its  happiness.  Ah,  how 
stormy  life  can  grow  to  be  within  the  four  walls  of  a  garret ! 
The  soul  within  us  is  like  a  fairy ;  she  turns  straw  into  dia- 
monds for  us ;  and  for  us,  at  a  touch  of  her  wand,  enchanted 
palaces  arise,  as  flowers  in  the  meadows  spring  up  towards  the 
sun. 

"  Towards  noon,  next  day,  Pauline  knocked  gently  at  my 
door,  and  brought  me — who  could  guess  it  ? — a  note  from 
Fcedora.  The  Countess  asked  me  to  take  her  to  the  Luxem- 
bourg, and  to  go  thence  to  see  with  her  the  Museum  and 
Jardin  des  Plantes. 

"  '  The  man  is  waiting  for  an  answer,'  said  Pauline,  after 
quietly  waiting  for  a  moment. 

"  I  hastily  scrawled  my  acknowledgments,  and  Pauline 
took  the  note.  I  changed  my  dress.  When  my  toilette  was 
ended,  and  I  looked  at  myself  with  some  complaisance,  an 
icy  shiver  ran  through  me  as  I  thought — 

"  'Will  Fcedora  walk  or  drive?  Will  it  rain  or  shine? — 
No  matter,  though,'  I  said  to  myself;  '  whichever  it  is,  can 
one  ever  reckon  with  feminine  caprice  !  She  will  have  no 


130  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

money  about  her,  and  will  want  to  give  a  dozen  francs  to  some 
little  Savoyard  because  his  rags  are  picturesque.' 

"I  had  not  a  brass  farthing,  and  should  have  no  money  till 
the  evening  came.  How  dearly  a  poet  pays  for  the  intellec- 
tual prowess  that  method  and  toil  have  brought  him,  at  such 
crises  of  our  youth  !  Innumerable  painfully  vivid  thoughts 
pierced  me  like  barbs.  I  looked  out  of  my  window ;  the 
weather  was  very  unsettled.  If  things  fell  out  badly,  I  might 
easily  have  a  cab  for  the  day  ;  but  would  not  the  fear  lie  on 
me  every  moment  that  I  might  not  meet  Finot  in  the  evening? 
I  felt  too  weak  to  endure  such  fears  in  the  midst  of  my  felicity. 
Though  I  felt  sure  that  I  should  find  nothing,  I  began  a  grand 
search  through  my  room ;  I  looked  for  imaginary  coins  in  the 
recesses  of  my  mattress;  I  hunted  about  everywhere — I  even 
shook  out  my  old  boots.  A  nervous  fever  seized  me ;  I 
looked  with  wild  eyes  at  the  furniture  when  I  had  ransacked 
it  all.  Will  you  understand,  I  wonder,  the  excitement  that 
possessed  me  when,  plunged  deep  in  the  listlessness  of  de- 
spair, I  opened  my  writing-table  drawer,  and  found  a  fair  and 
splendid  ten-franc  piece  that  shone  like  a  rising  star,  new  and 
sparkling,  and  slily  hiding  in  a  cranny  between  two  boards? 
I  did  not  try  to  account  for  its  previous  reserve  and  the  cruelty 
of  which  it  had  been  guilty  in  thus  lying  hidden  ;  I  kissed  it 
for  a  friend  faithful  in  adversity,  and  hailed  it  with  a  cry  that 
found  an  echo,  and  made  me  turn  sharply,  to  find  Pauline 
with  a  face  grown  white. 

"  '  I  thought,'  she  faltered,  '  that  you  had  hurt  yourself ! 

The  man  who  brought  the  letter '  (she  broke  off  as  if 

something  smothered  her  voice).  '  But  mother  has  paid  him,' 
she  added,  and  flitted  away  like  a  wayward,  capricious  child. 
Poor  little  one  !  I  wanted  her  to  share  my  happiness.  I 
seemed  to  have  all  the  happiness  in  the  world  within  me  just 
then  ;  and  I  would  fain  have  returned  to  the  unhappy,  all  that 
I  felt  as  if  I  had  stolen  from  them. 

"  The  intuitive  perception   of  adversity  is  sound  for  the 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A  HEART.  131 

most  part ;  the  Countess  had  sent  away  her  carriage.  One 
of  those  freaks  that  pretty  women  can  scarcely  explain  to 
themselves  had  determined  her  to  go  on  foot,  by  way  of  the 
boulevards,  to  the  Jardin  des  Plantes. 

"  '  It  will  rain,'  I  told  her,  and  it  pleased  her  to  contra- 
dict me. 

"As  it  fell  out,  the  weather  was  fine  while  we  went  through 
the  Luxembourg ;  when  we  came  out,  some  drops  fell  from  a 
great  cloud,  whose  progress  I  had  watched  uneasily,  and  we 
took  a  cab.  At  the  Museum  I  was  about  to  dismiss  the  vehi- 
cle, and  Foedora  (what  agonies  !)  asked  me  not  to  do  so.  But 
it  was  like  a  dream  in  broad  daylight  for  me,  to  chat  with 
her,  to  wander  in  the  Jardin  des  Plantes,  to  stray  down  the 
shady  alleys,  to  feel  her  hand  upon  my  arm ;  the  secret  trans- 
ports repressed  in  me  were  reduced,  no  doubt,  to  a  fixed  and 
foolish  smile  upon  my  lips  ;  there  was  something  unreal  about 
it  all.  Yet  in  all  her  movements,  however  alluring,  whether  we 
stood  or  whether  we  walked,  there  was  nothing  either  tender 
or  lover-like.  When  I  tried  to  share  in  a  measure  the  action 
of  movement  prompted  by  her  life,  I  became  aware  of  a 
check,  or  of  something  strange  in  her  that  I  cannot  explain, 
of  an  inner  activity  concealed  in  her  nature.  There  is  no 
suavity  about  the  movements  of  women  who  have  no  soul 
in  them.  Our  wills  were  opposed,  and  we  did  not  keep  step 
together.  Words  are  wanting  to  describe  this  outward  dis- 
sonance between  two  beings ;  we  are  not  accustomed  to  read 
a  thought  in  a  movement.  We  instinctively  feel  this  phe- 
nomenon of  our  nature,  but  it  cannot  be  expressed. 

"I  did  not  dissect  my  sensations  during  those  violent 
seizures  of  passion,"  Raphael  went  on,  after  a  moment  of 
silence,  as  if  he  were  replying  to  an  objection  raised  by  him- 
self. "  I  did  not  analyze  my  pleasures  nor  count  my  heart- 
beats then,  as  a  miser  scrutinizes  and  weighs  his  gold-pieces. 
No  ;  experience  sheds  its  melancholy  light  over  the  events  of 
the  past  to-day,  and  memory  brings  these  pictures  back,  as 


132  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

the  sea- waves  in  fair  weather  cast  up  fragment  after  fragment 
of  the  debris  of  a  wrecked  vessel  upon  the  strand. 

"  '  It  is  in  your  power  to  render  me  a  rather  important 
service,'  said  the  Countess,  looking  at  me  in  an  embarrassed 
way.  '  After  confiding  to  you  my  aversion  for  lovers,  I  feel 
myself  more  at  liberty  to  entreat  your  good  offices  in  the 
name  of  friendship.  Will  there  not  be  very  much  more  merit 
in  obliging  me  to-day  ?  '  she  asked,  laughing. 

"  I  looked  at  her  in  anguish.  Her  manner  was  coaxing, 
but  in  no  wise  affectionate ;  she  felt  nothing  for  me  ;  she 
seemed  to  be  playing  a  part,  and  I  thought  her  a  consummate 
actress.  Then  all  at  once  my  hopes  awoke  once  more,  at  a 
single  look  and  word.  Yet  if  reviving  love  expressed  itself 
in  my  eyes,  she  bore  its  light  without  any  change  in  the  clear- 
ness of  her  own ;  they  seemed,  like  a  tiger's  eyes,  to  have  a 
sheet  of  metal  behind  them.  I  used  to  hate  her  in  such 
moments. 

"'The  influence  of  the  Due  de  Navarreins  would  be 
very  useful  to  me,  with  an  all-powerful  person  in  Russia,' 
she  went  on,  persuasion  in  every  modulation  of  her  voice, 
'  whose  intervention  I  need  in  order  to  have  justice  done  me 
in  a  matter  that  concerns  both  my  fortune  and  my  posi- 
tion in  the  world,  that  is  to  say,  the  recognition  of  my 
marriage  by  the  Emperor.  Is  not  the  Due  de  Navarreins  a 
cousin  of  yours  ?  A  letter  from  him  would  settle  everything. 

"  '  I  am  yours,'  I  answered  ;  'command  me.' 

"  '  You  are  very  nice,'  she  said,  pressing  my  hand.  '  Come 
and  have  dinner  with  me,  and  I  will  tell  you  everything,  as  if 
you  were  my  confessor.' 

"So  this  discreet,  suspicious  woman,  who  had  never  been 
heard  to  speak  a  word  about  her  affairs  to  any  one,  was  going 
to  consult  me. 

"  '  Oh,  how  dear  to  me  is  this  silence  that  you  have  imposed 
on  me ! '  I  cried, '  but  I  would  rather  have  had  some  sharper 
ordeal  still.'  And  she  smiled  upon  the  intoxication  in  my 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  133 

eyes ;  she  did  not  reject  my  admiration  in  any  way  ;  surely 
she  loved  me  ! 

"  Fortunately,  my  purse  held  just  enough  to  satisfy  the 
cabman.  The  day  spent  in  her  house,  alone  with  her,  was 
delicious;  it  was  the  first  time  that  I  had  seen  her  in  this  way. 
Hitherto  we  had  always  been  kept  apart  by  the  presence 
of  others,  and  by  her  formal  politeness  and  reserved  manners, 
even  during  her  magnificent  dinners;  but  now  it  was  as  if 
I  lived  beneath  her  own  roof — I  had  her  all  to  myself,  so  to 
speak.  My  wandering  fancy  broke  down  barriers,  arranged 
the  events  of  life  to  my  liking,  and  steeped  me  in  happiness 
and  love.  I  seemed  to  myself  her  husband,  I  liked  to  watch 
her  busied  with  little  details ;  it  was  a  pleasure  to  me  even 
to  see  her  take  off  her  bonnet  and  shawl.  She  left  me  alone 
for  a  while,  and  came  back,  charming,  with  her  hair  newly 
arranged  ;  and  this  dainty  change  of  toilette  had  been  made 
for  me  ! 

"  During  the  dinner  she  lavished  attention  upon  me,  and 
put  charm  without  end  into  those  numberless  trifles  to  all 
seeming,  that  make  up  half  of  our  existence  nevertheless. 
As  we  sat  together  before  a  crackling  fire,  on  silken  cushions, 
surrounded  by  the  most  desirable  creations  of  Oriental 
luxury ;  as  I  saw  this  woman  whose  famous  beauty  made 
every  heart  beat,  so  close  to  me ;  an  unapproachable  woman 
who  was  talking  and  bringing  all  her  powers  of  coquetry  to 
bear  upon  me  ;  then  my  blissful  pleasure  rose  almost  to  the 
point  of  suffering.  To  my  vexation,  I  recollected  the  impor- 
tant business  to  be  concluded  ;  I  determined  to  go  to  keep  the 
appointment  made  for  me  for  this  evening. 

"'So  soon  ?  '  she  said,  seeing  me  take  my  hat. 

"  She  loved  me,  then  !  or  I  thought  so  at  least,  from  the 
bland  tones  in  which  those  two  words  were  uttered.  I  would 
then  have  bartered  a  couple  of  years  of  life  for  every  hour  she 
chose  to  grant  me,  and  so  prolong  my  ecstasy.  My  happi- 
ness was  increased  by  the  extent  of  the  money  I  sacrificed.  It 


134  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN. 

was  midnight  before  she  dismissed  me.  But  on  the  morrow, 
for  all  that,  my  heroism  cost  me  a  good  many  remorseful 
pangs ;  I  was  afraid  the  affair  of  the  memoirs,  now  of  such 
importance  for  me,  might  have  fallen  through,  and  rushed  off 
to  Rastignac.  We  found  the  nominal  author  of  my  future 
labors  just  getting  up. 

"Finot  read  over  a  brief  agreement  to  me,  in  which  noth- 
ing whatever  was  said  about  my  aunt,  and  when  it  had 
been  signed  he  paid  me  down  fifty  crowns,  and  the  three 
of  us  breakfasted  together.  I  had  only  thirty  francs  left 
over,  when  I  had  paid  for  my  new  hat,  for  sixty  tickets  at 
thirty  sous  each,  and  settled  my  debts  ;  but  for  some  days 
to  come  the  difficulties  of  living  were  removed.  If  I  had 
but  listened  to  Rastignac,  I  might  have  had  abundance  by 
frankly  adopting  the  '  English  system.'  He  really  wanted  to 
establish  my  credit  by  setting  me  to  raise  loans,  on  the  theory 
that  borrowing  is  the  basis  of  credit.  To  hear  him  talk,  the 
future  was  the  largest  and  most  secure  kind  of  capital  in  the 
world.  My  future  luck  was  hypothecated  for  the  benefit  of 
my  creditors,  and  he  gave  my  custom  to  his  tailor,  an  artist, 
and  a  young  man's  tailor,  who  was  to  leave  me  in  peace  until 
I  married. 

"The  monastic  life  of  study  that  I  had  led  for  three  years 
past  ended  on  this  day.  I  frequented  Foedora's  house  very 
diligently,  and  tried  to  outshine  the  heroes  or  the  swaggerers  to 
be  found  in  her  circle.  When  I  believed  that  I  had  left 
poverty  forever  behind  me,  I  regained  my  freedom  of  mind, 
humiliated  my  rivals,  and  was  looked  upon  as  a  very  attrac- 
tive, dazzling,  and  irresistible  sort  of  man.  But  acute  folks 
used  to  say  with  regard  to  me,  'A  fellow  as  clever  as  that  will 
keep  all  his  enthusiasms  in  his  brain,'  and  charitably  extolled 
my  faculties  at  the  expense  of  my  feelings.  '  Isn't  he  lucky  not 
to  be  in  love  !'  they  exclaimed.  'If  he  were  could  he  be  so 
light-hearted  and  animated  !'  Yet  in  Fcedora's  presence  I 
was  as  dull  as  love  could  make  me.  When  I  was  alone  with 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  135 

her  I  had  not  a  word  to  say,  or  if  I  did  speak  I  renounced 
love;  and  I  affected  gaiety  but  ill,  like  a  courtier  who  has  a 
a  bitter  mortification  to  hide.  I  tried  in  every  way  to  make 
myself  indispensable  in  her  life,  and  necessary  to  her  vanity 
and  to  her  comfort ;  I  was  a  plaything  at  her  pleasure,  a  slave 
always  at  her  side.  And  when  I  had  frittered  away  the  day 
in  this  way,  I  went  back  to  my  work  at  night,  securing  merely 
two  or  three  hours'  sleep  in  the  early  morning. 

"But  I  had  not,  like  Rastignac,  the  'English  system'  at 
my  finger-ends,  and  I  very  soon  saw  myself  without  a  penny. 
I  fell  at  once  into  that  precarious  way  of  life  which  industri- 
ously hides  cold  and  miserable  depths  beneath  an  elusive  sur- 
face of  luxury;  I  was  a  coxcomb  without  conquests,  a  penni- 
less fop,  a  nameless  gallant.  The  old  sufferings  were  renewed, 
but  less  sharply ;  no  doubt  I  was  growing  used  to  the  painful 
crises.  Very  often  my  sole  diet  consisted  of  the  scanty  pro- 
vision of  cakes  and  tea  that  is  offered  in  drawing-rooms,  or 
one  of  the  Countess'  great  dinners  must  sustain  me  for  two 
whole  days.  I  used  all  my  time,  and  exerted  every  effort  and 
all  my  powers  of  observation,  to  penetrate  the  imperturbable 
character  of  Fcedora.  Alternate  hope  and  despair  had  swayed 
my  opinions;  for  me  she  was  sometimes  the  tenderest,  some- 
times the  most  unfeeling  of  women.  But  these  transitions 
from  joy  to  sadness  became  unendurable  ;  I  sought  to  end  the 
horrible  conflict  within  me  by  extinguishing  love.  By  the 
light  of  warning  gleams  my  soul  sometimes  recognized  the 
gulfs  that  lay  between  us.  The  Countess  confinmed  all  my  fears ; 
I  had  never  yet  detected  any  tear  in  her  eyes ;  an  affecting 
scene  in  a  play  left  her  smiling  and  unmoved.  All  her  instincts 
were  selfish ;  she  could  not  divine  another's  joy  or  sorrow. 
She  had  made  a  fool  of  me,  in  fact. 

"  I  had  rejoiced  over  a  sacrifice  to  make  for  her,  and  almost 
humiliated  myself  in  seeking  out  my  kinsman,  the  Due  de 
Navarreins,  a  selfish  man  who  was  ashamed  of  my  poverty, 
and  had  injured  me  too  deeply  not  to  hate  me.  He  received 


136  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

me  with  the  polite  coldness  that  makes  every  word  and  gesture 
seem  an  insult ;  he  looked  so  ill  at  ease  that  I  pitied  him.  I 
blushed  for  this  pettiness  amid  grandeur,  and  penuriousness 
surrounded  by  luxury.  He  began  to  talk  to  me  of  his  heavy 
losses  in  the  three  per  cents.,  and  then  I  told  him  the  object 
of  my  visit.  The  change  in  his  manners,  hitherto  glacial, 
which  now  gradually  became  affectionate,  disgusted  me. 

"  Well,  he  called  upon  the  Countess,  and  completely  eclipsed 
me  with  her. 

"On  him  Fcedora  exercised  spells  and  witcheries  unheard 
of;  she  drew  him  into  her  power,  and  arranged  her  whole 
mysterious  business  with  him ;  I  was  left  out,  I  heard  not  a 
word  of  it ;  she  had  made  a  tool  of  me  !  She  did  not  seem 
to  be  aware  of  my  existence  while  my  cousin  was  present ; 
she  received  me  less  cordially  perhaps  than  when  I  was  first 
presented  to  her.  One  evening  she  chose  to  mortify  me  before 
the  Duke  by  a  look,  a  gesture,  that  it  is  useless  to  try  to  ex- 
press in  words.  I  went  away  with  tears  in  my  eyes,  planning 
terrible  and  outrageous  schemes  of  vengeance  without  end. 

"  I  often  used  to  go  with  her  to  the  theatre.  Love  utterly 
absorbed  me  as  I  sat  beside  her ;  as  I  looked  at  her  I  used  to 
give  myself  up  to  the  pleasure  of  listening  to  the  music,  put- 
ting all  my  soul  into  the  double  joy  of  love  and  of  hearing 
every  emotion  of  my  heart  translated  into  musical  cadences. 
It  was  my  passion  that  filled  the  air  and  the  stage,  that  was 
triumphant  everywhere,  but  with  my  mistress.  Then  I  would 
take  Fcedora's  hand.  I  used  to  scan  her  features  and  her 
eyes,  imploring  of  them  some  indication  that  one  blended 
feeling  possessed  us  both,  seeking  for  the  sudden  harmony 
awakened  by  the  power  of  music,  which  makes  our  souls  vibrate 
in  unison  ;  but  her  hand  was  passive,  her  eyes  said  nothing. 

"When  the  fire  that  burned  in  me  glowed  too  fiercely  from 
the  face  I  turned  upon  her,  she  met  it  with  that  studied  smile 
of  hers,  the  conventional  expression  that  sits  on  the  lips  of 
every  portrait  in  every  exhibition.  She  was  not  listening  to 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A    HEART.  137 

the  music.  The  divine  pages  of  Rossini,  Cimarosa,  or  Zingarelli 
called  up  no  emotion,  gave  no  voice  to  any  poetry  in  her  life  ; 
her  soul  was  a  desert. 

"  Fcedora  presented  herself  as  a  drama  before  a  drama. 
Her  lorgnette  traveled  restlessly  over  the  boxes ;  she  was  rest- 
less too  beneath  the  apparent  calm  ;  fashion  tyrannized  over 
her;  her  box,  her  bonnet,  her  carriage,  her  own  personality 
absorbed  her  entirely.  My  merciless  knowledge  thoroughly 
tore  away  all  my  illusions.  If  good  breeding  consists  in  self-for- 
getfulness  and  consideration  for  others,  in  constantly  showing 
gentleness  in  voice  and  bearing,  in  pleasing  others,  and  in 
making  them  content  in  themselves,  all  traces  of  her  plebeian 
origin  were  not  yet  obliterated  in  Fredora,  in  spite  of  her 
cleverness.  Her  self-forgetfulness  was  a  sham,  her  manners 
were  not  innate  but  painfully  acquired,  her  politeness  was 
rather  subservient.  And  yet  for  those  she  singled  out,  her 
honeyed  words  expressed  natural  kindness,  her  pretentious  ex- 
aggeration was  exalted  enthusiasm.  I  alone  had  scrutinized 
her  grimacings,  and  stripped  away  the  thin  rind  that  sufficed  to 
conceal  her  real  nature  from  the  world  ;  her  trickery  no  longer 
deceived  me  ;  I  had  sounded  the  depths  of  that  feline  nature. 
I  blushed  for  her  when  some  donkey  or  other  flattered  and 
complimented  her.  And  yet  I  loved  her  through  it  all !  I 
hoped  that  her  snows  would  melt  with  the  warmth  of  a  poet's 
love.  If  I  could  only  have  made  her  heart  capable  of  a 
woman's  tenderness,  if  I  could  have  made  her  feel  all  the 
greatness  that  lies  in  devotion,  then  I  should  have  seen  her 
perfected,  she  would  have  been  an  angel.  I  loved  her  as  a  man, 
a  lover,  and  an  artist ;  if  it  had  been  necessary  not  to  love 
her  so  that  I  might  win  her,  some  cool-headed  coxcomb,  some 
self-possessed  calculator  would  perhaps  have  had  the  advantage 
over  me.  She  was  so  vain  and  sophisticated,  that  the  language 
of  vanity  would  appeal  to  her;  she  would  have  allowed  her- 
self to  be  taken  in  the  toils  of  an  intrigue  ;  a  hard,  cold  nature 
would  have  gained  a  complete  ascendency  over  her.  Keen 


138  THE    WILD   ASV    SKIN. 

grief  had  pierced  me  to  my  very  soul,  as  she  unconsciously 
revealed  her  absolute  love  of  self.  I  seemed  to  see  her  as  she 
one  day  would  be,  alone  in  the  world,  with  no  one  to  whom 
she  could  stretch  her  hand,  with  no  friendly  eyes  for  her  own 
to  meet  and  rest  upon.  I  was  bold  enough  to  set  this  before 
her  one  evening ;  I  painted  in  vivid  colors  her  lonely,  sad, 
deserted  old  age.  Her  comment  on  this  prospect  of  so  ter- 
rible a  revenge  of  thwarted  nature  was  horrible. 

"  '  I  shall  always  have  money,"  she  said  ;  '  and  with  money 
we  can  always  inspire  such  sentiments  as  are  necessary  for  our 
comfort  in  those  about  us.' 

"  I  went  away  confounded  by  the  arguments  of  luxury,  by 
the  reasoning  of  this  woman,  of  the  world  in  which  she  lived; 
and  blamed  myself  for  my  infatuated  idolatry.  I  myself  had 
not  loved  Pauline  because  she  was  poor ;  and  had  not  the 
wealthy  Foedora  aright  to  repulse  Raphael?  Conscience  is  our 
unerring  judge  until  we  finally  stifle  it.  A  specious  voice  said 
within  me,  '  Fcedora  is  neither  attracted  to  nor  repulses  any 
one ;  she  has  her  liberty,  but  once  upon  a  time  she  sold  her- 
self to  the  Russian  count,  her  husband  or  her  lover,  for  gold. 
But  temptation  is  certain  to  enter  into  her  life.  Wait  till  that 
moment  comes !  '  She  lived  remote  from  humanity,  in  a 
sphere  apart,  in  a  hell  or  a  heaven  of  her  own  ;  she  was 
neither  frail  nor  virtuous.  This  feminine  enigma  in  embroid- 
eries and  cashmeres  had  brought  into  play  every  emotion  of 
the  human  heart  in  me — pride,  ambition,  love,  curiosity. 

"  There  was  a  craze  just  then  for  praising  a  play  at  a  little 
Boulevard  theatre,  prompted  perhaps  by  a  wish  to  appear 
original  that  besets  us  all,  or  due  to  some  freak  of  fashion. 
The  Countess  showed  some  signs  of  a  wish  to  see  the  floured 
face  of  tke  actor  who  had  so  delighted  several  people  of  taste, 
and  I  obtained  the  honor  of  taking  her  to  a  first  representa- 
tion of  some  wretched  farce  or  other.  A  box  scarcely  cost 
five  francs,  but  I  had  not  a  brass  farthing.  I  was  but  half- 
way through  the  volume  of  memoirs;  I  dared  not  beg  for 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  139 

assistance  of  Finot,  and  Rastignac,  my  providence,  was  away. 
These  constant  perplexities  were  the  bane  of  my  life. 

"  We  had  once  come  out  of  the  theatre  when  it  was  raining 
heavily ;  Fcedora  had  called  a  cab  for  me  before  I  could 
escape  from  her  show  of  concern  ;  she  would  not  admit  any 
of  my  excuses — my  liking  for  wet  weather,  and  my  wish  to  go 
to  the  gaming-table.  She  did  not  read  my  poverty  in  my  em- 
barrassed attitude,  nor  in  my  forced  jests.  My  eyes  would 
redden,  but  she  did  not  understand  a  look.  A  young  man's 
life  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  strangest  whims !  At  every 
revolution  of  the  wheels  during  the  journey,  thoughts  that 
burned  stirred  in  my  heart.  I  tried  to  pull  up  a  plank  from 
the  bottom  of  the  vehicle,  hoping  to  slip  through  the  hole 
into  the  street ;  but  finding  insuperable  obstacles  I  burst 
into  a  fit  of  laughter,  and  then  sat  stupefied  in  calm  dejec- 
tion, like  a  man  in  the  pillory.  When  I  reached  my  lodg- 
ing, Pauline  broke  in  through  my  first  stammering  words 
with — 

"  '  If  you  haven't  any  money ? ' 

"Ah,  the  music  of  Rossini  was  as  nothing  compared  with 
those  words.  But  to  return  to  the  performance  at  the 
Funambules. 

"  I  thought  of  pawning  the  circlet  of  gold  round  my 
mother's  portrait  in  order  to  escort  the  Countess.  Although 
the  pawnbroker  loomed  in  my  thoughts  as  one  of  the  doors 
of  a  convinct's  prison,  I  would  rather  myself  have  carried  my 
bed  thither  than  have  begged  for  alms.  There  is  something 
so  painful  in  the  expression  of  a  man  who  asks  money  of  you  ! 
There  are  loans  that  mulct  us  of  our  self-respect,  just  as  some 
rebuffs  from  a  friend's  lips  sweep  away  our  last  illusion. 

"Pauline  was  working  ;  her  mother  had  gone  to  bed.  I 
flung  a  stealthy  glance  over  the  bed  ;  the  curtains  were  drawn 
back  a  little  ;  Madame  Gaudin  was  in  a  deep  sleep,  I  thought, 
when  I  saw  her  quiet,  sallow  profile  outlined  against  the 
pillow. 


140  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKfN. 

"'You  are  in  trouble?'  Pauline  said,  dipping  her  brush 
into  the  coloring. 

"  'It  is  in  your  power  to  do  me  a  great  service,  my  dear 
child,'  I  answered. 

"The  gladness  in  her  eyes  frightened  me. 

"  '  Is  it  possible  that  she  loves  me  ?  '  I  thought.  '  Pauline,' 
I  began.  I  went  and  sat  near  to  her,  so  as  to  study  her.  My 
tones  had  been  so  searching  that  she  read  my  thought ;  her 
eyes  fell,  and  I  scrutinized  her  face.  It  was  so  pure  and 
frank  that  I  fancied  I  could  see  as  clearly  into  her  heart  as 
into  my  own. 

"  '  Do  you  love  me  ?  '  I  asked. 

"  '  A  little, — passionately — not  a  bit,'  she  cried. 

"Then  she  did  not  love  me.  Her  jesting  tones,  and  a 
little  gleeful  movement  that  escaped  her,  expressed  nothing 
beyond  a  girlish,  blithe  goodwill.  I  told  her  about  my  dis- 
tress and  the  predicament  in  which  I  found  myself,  and  asked 
her  to  help  me. 

"  '  You  do  not  wish  to  go  to  the  pawnbroker's  yourself,  M. 
Raphael,'  she  answered,  '  and  yet  you  would  send  me  !  ' 

"  I  blushed  in  confusion  at  the  child's  reasoning.  She  took 
my  hand  in  hers  as  if  she  wanted  to  compensate  for  this  home- 
truth  by  her  light  touch  upon  it. 

"  '  Oh,  I  would  willingly  go,'  she  said,  '  but  it  is  not  neces- 
sary. I  found  two  five-franc  pieces  at  the  back  of  the  piano, 
that  had  slipped  without  your  knowledge  between  the  frame 
and  the  keyboard,  and  I  laid  them  on  your  table.' 

"  'You  will  soon  be  coming  into  some  money,  M.  Raphael,' 
said  the  kind  mother,  showing  her  face  between  the  curtains, 
*  and  I  can  easily  lend  you  a  few  crowns  meanwhile.' 

"  '  Oh,  Pauline  !  '  I  cried,  as  I  pressed  her  hand,  '  how  I 
wish  that  I  were  rich  !  ' 

"  '  Bah  !  why  should  you  ?  '  she  said  petulantly.  Her 
hand  shook  in  mine  with  the  throbbing  of  her  pulse;  she 
snatched  it  away,  and  looked  at  both  of  mine. 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  141 

"  '  You  will  marry  a  rich  wife,'  she  said,  '  but  she  will  give 
you  a  great  deal  of  trouble.  Ah,  Dieu !  she  will  be  your 
death, — I  am  sure  of  it.' 

"  In  her  exclamation  there  was  something  like  belief  in  her 
mother's  absurd  superstitions. 

"  '  You  are  very  credulous,  Pauline  ! ' 

"  '  The  woman  whom  you  will  love  is  going  to  kill  you — 
there  is  no  doubt  of  it,'  she  said,  looking  at  me  with  alarm. 

"  She  took  up  her  brush  again  and  dipped  it  in  the  color; 
her  great  agitation  was  evident ;  she  looked  at  me  no  longer. 
I  was  ready  to  give  credence  just  then  to  superstitious  fancies  ; 
no  man  is  utterly  wretched  so  long  as  he  is  superstitious ; 
a  belief  of  that  kind  is  often  in  reality  a  hope. 

"  I  found  that  those  two  magnificent  five-franc  pieces  were 
lying,  in  fact,  upon  my  table  when  I  reached  my  room. 
During  the  first  confused  thoughts  of  early  slumber,  I  tried  to 
audif  my  accounts  so  as  to  explain  this  unhoped-for  windfall ; 
but  I  lost  myself  in  useless  calculations,  and  slept.  Just  as  I 
was  leaving  my  room  to  engage  a  box  the  next  morning, 
Pauline  came  to  see  me. 

"  '  Perhaps  your  ten  francs  is  not  enough,'  said  the  amiable, 
kind-hearted  girl ;  '  my  mother  told  me  to  offer  you  this 
money.  Take  it,  please,  take  it ! ' 

"  She  laid  three  crowns  upon  the  table,  and  tried  to  escape, 
but  I  would  not  let  her  go.  Admiration  dried  the  tears  that 
sprang  to  my  eyes. 

"  '  You  are  an  angel,  Pauline,'  I  said.  '  It  is  not  the  loan 
that  touches  me  so  much  as  the  delicacy  with  which  it  is 
offered.  I  used  to  wish  for  a  rich  wife,  a  fashionable  woman 
of  rank  ;  and  now,  alas  !  I  would  rather  possess  millions,  and 
find  some  girl,  as  poor  as  you  are,  with  a  generous  nature  like 
your  own ;  and  I  would  renounce  a  fatal  passion  which  will 
kill  me.  Perhaps  what  you  told  me  will  come  true.' 

"'That  is  enough,'    she  said,  and  fled  away;    the  fresh 
trills  of  her  bird -like  voice  rang  up  the  staircase.' 
10 


142  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN. 

''  '  She  is  very  happy  in  not  yet  knowing  love,'  I  said  to 
myself,  thinking  of  the  torments  I  had  endured  for  many 
months  past. 

"  Pauline's  fifteen  francs  were  invaluable  to  me.  Foedora, 
thinking  of  the  stifling  odor  of  the  crowded  place  where 
we  were  to  spend  several  hours,  was  sorry  that  she  had  not 
brought  a  bouquet ;  I  went  in  search  of  flowers  for  her,  as 
I  had  laid  already  my  life  and  my  fate  at  her  feet.  With  a 
pleasure  in  which  compunction  mingled,  I  gave  her  a  bouquet. 
I  learned  from  its 'price  the  extravagance  of  superficial  gal- 
lantry in  the  world.  But  very  soon  she  complained  of  the 
heavy  scent  of  a  Mexican  jessamine.  The  interior  of  the 
theatre,  the  bare  bench  on  which  she  was  to  sit,  filled  her 
with  intolerable  disgust ;  she  upbraided  me  for  bringing  her 
there.  Although  she  sat  beside  me,  she  wished  to  go, 
and  she  went.  I  had  spent  sleepless  nights,  and  squandered 
two  months  of  my  life  for  her,  and  I  could  not  please  her. 
Never  had  that  tormenting  spirit  been  more  unfeeling  or  more 
fascinating. 

"I  sat  beside  her  in  the  cramped  back  seat  of  the  vehicle ; 
all  the  way  I  could  feel  her  breath  on  me  and  the  contact  of 
her  perfumed  glove  ;  I  saw  distinctly  all  her  exceeding  beauty  ; 
I  inhaled  a  vague  scent  of  orris-root ;  so  wholly  a  woman  she 
was,  with  no  touch  of  womanhood.  Just  then  a  sudden 
gleam  of  light  lit  up  the  depths  of  this  mysterious  life  for  me. 
I  thought  all  at  once  of  a  book  just  published  by  a  poet,  a 
genuine  conception  of  the  artist,  in  the  shape  of  the  statue  of 
Polycletus. 

"  I  seemed  to  see  that  monstrous  creation,  at  one  time  an 
officer,  breaking  in  a  spirited  horse;  at  another,  a  girl,  who 
gives  herself  up  to  her  toilette  and  breaks  her  lovers'  hearts; 
or,  again,  a  false  lover  driving  a  timid  and  gentle  maid  to 
despair.  Unable  to  analyze  Fcedora  by  any  other  process,  I 
told  her  this  fanciful  story;  but  no  hint  of  her  resemblance 
to  this  poetry  of  the  impossible  crossed  her — it  simply  diverted 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A    HEART.  143 

her ;  she  was  like  a  child  over  a  story  from  the  '  Arabian 
Nights.' 

"  '  Fcedora  must  be  shielded  by  some  talisman,'  I  thought 
to  myself  as  I  went  back,  'or  she  could  not  resist  the  love  ot 
a  man  of  my  age,  the  infectious  fever  of  that  splendid  malady 
of  the  soul.  Is  Foedora,  like  Lady  Delacour,  a  prey  to  a 
cancer?  Her  life  is  certainly  an  unnatural  one.' 

"  I  shuddered  at  the  thought.  Then  I  decided  on  a  plan, 
at  once  the  wildest  and  the  most  rational  that  lover  ever 
dreamed  of.  I  would  study  this  woman  from  a  physical 
point  of  view,  as  I  had  already  studied  her  intellectually,  and 
to  this  end  I  made  up  my  mind  to  spend  a  night  in  her  room 
without  her  knowledge.  This  project  preyed  upon  me  as  a 
thirst  for  revenge  gnaws  at  the  heart  of  a  Corsican  monk. 
This  is  how  I  carried  it  out.  On  the  days  when  Fcedora  re- 
ceived, her  rooms  were  far  too  crowded  for  the  hall-porter  to 
keep  the  balance  even  between  goers  and  comers ;  I  could 
remain  in  the  house,  I  felt  sure,  without  causing  a  scandal  in 
it,  and  I  waited  the  Countess'  coming  soiree  with  impatience. 
As  I  dressed  I  put  a  little  English  penknife  into  my  waistcoat 
pocket,  instead  of  a  poniard.  That  literary  implement,  if 
found  upon  me,  could  awaken  no  suspicion,  but  I  knew  not 
whither  my  romantic  resolution  might  lead,  and  I  wished  to 
be  prepared. 

"  As  soon  as  the  rooms  began  to  fill,  I  entered  the  bedroom 
and  examined  the  arrangements.  The  inner  and  outer  shut- 
ters were  closed ;  this  was  a  good  beginning ;  and  as  the 
waiting-maid  might  come  to  draw  back  the  curtains  that  hung 
over  the  windows,  I  pulled  them  together.  I  was  running 
great  risks  in  venturing  to  manoeuvre  beforehand  in  this  way, 
but  I  had  accepted  the  situation,  and  had  deliberately  reck- 
oned with  its  dangers. 

"About  midnight  I  hid  myself  in  the  embrasure  of  the 
window.  I  tried  to  scramble  on  to  a  ledge  of  the  wainscot- 
ing, hanging  on  by  the  fastening  of  the  shutters  with  my 


144  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN. 

back  against  the  wall,  in  such  a  position  that  my  feet  could 
not  be  visible.  When  I  had  carefully  considered  my  points 
of  support,  and  the  space  between  me  and  the  curtains,  I  had 
become  sufficiently  acquainted  with  all  the  difficulties  of  my 
position  to  stay  in  it  without  fear  of  detection  if  undisturbed 
by  cramp,  coughs,  or  sneezings.  To  avoid  useless  fatigue,  I 
remained  standing  until  the  critical  moment,  when  I  must 
hang  suspended  like  a  spider  in  its  web.  The  white-watered 
silk  and  muslin  of  the  curtains  spread  before  me  in  great 
pleats  like  organ-pipes.  With  my  penknife  I  cut  loop-holes 
in  them  through  which  I  could  see. 

"  I  heard  vague  murmurs  from  the  salons,  the  laughter  and 
the  louder  tones  of  the  speakers.  The  smothered  commotion 
and  vague  uproar  lessened  by  slow  degrees.  One  man  and 
another  came  for  his  hat  from  the  Countess'  chest  of  drawers, 
close  to  where  I  stood.  I  shivered,  if  the  curtains  were  dis- 
turbed, at  the  thought  of  the  mischances  consequent  on  the 
confused  and  hasty  investigations  made  by  the  men  in  a  hurry 
to  depart,  who  were  rummaging  everywhere.  When  I  experi- 
enced no  misfortunes  of  this  kind,  I  argued  well  of  my  enter- 
prise. An  old  wooer  of  Fcedora's  came  for  the  last  hat ;  he 
thought  himself  quite  alone,  looked  at  the  bed,  and  heaved  a 
great  sigh,  accompanied  by  some  inaudible  exclamation,  into 
which  he  threw  sufficient  energy.  In  the  boudoir  close  by, 
the  Countess,  finding  only  some  five  or  six  intimate  acquaint- 
ances about  her,  proposed  tea.  The  scandals  for  which  exist- 
ing society  has  reserved  the  little  faculty  of  belief  that  it 
retains,  mingled  with  epigrams  and  trenchant  witticisms,  and 
the  clatter  of  cups  and  spoons.  Rastignac  drew  roars  of 
laughter  by  his  merciless  sarcasms  at  the  expense  of  my 
rivals. 

"  '  M.  de  Rastignac  is  a  man  with  whom  it  is  better  not  to 
quarrel,'  said  the  Countess,  laughing. 

"  'I  am  quite  of  that  opinion,'  was  his  candid  reply.  'I 
have  always  been  right  about  my  aversions — and  my  friendships 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  145 

as  well,'  he  added.  '  Perhaps  my  enemies  are  quite  as  useful 
to  me  as  my  friends.  I  have  made  a  particular  study  of 
modern  phraseology,  and  of  the  natural  craft  that  is  used  in 
all  attack  or  defence.  Official  eloquence  is  one  of  our  perfect 
social  products. 

"  '  One  of  your  friends  is  not  clever,  so  you  speak  of  his 
integrity  and  his  candor.  Another's  work  is  heavy  ;  you  intro- 
duce it  as  a  piece  of  conscientious  labor ;  and  if  the  book  is 
ill  written,  you  extol  the  ideas  it  contains.  Such  an  one  is 
treacherous  and  fickle,  slips  through  your  fingers  every  moment ; 
bah !  he  is  attractive,  bewitching,  he  is  delightful !  Suppose 
they  are  enemies,  you  fling  every  one,  dead  or  alive,  in 
their  teeth.  You  reverse  your  phraseology  for  their  benefit, 
and  you  are  as  keen  in  detecting  their  faults  as  you  were 
before  adroit  in  bringing  out  the  virtues  of  your  friends. 
This  way  of  using  the  mental  lorgnette  is  the  secret  of  con- 
versation nowadays,  and  the  whole  art  of  the  complete  courtier. 
If  you  neglect  it,  you  might  as  well  go  out  as  an  unarmed 
knight-banneret  to  fight  against  men  in  armor.  And  I  make 
use  of  it,  and  even  abuse  it  at  times.  So  we  are  respected — 
I,  my  friends,  and,  moreover,  my  sword  is  quite  as  sharp  as 
my  tongue.' 

"One  of  Fcedora's  most  fervid  worshippers,  whose  pre- 
sumption was  notorious,  and  who  even  made  it  contribute  to 
his  success,  took  up  the  glove  thrown  down  so  scornfully  by 
Rastignac.  He  began  an  unmeasured  eulogy  of  me,  my  per- 
formances, and  my  character.  Rastignac  had  overlooked 
this  method  of  detraction.  His  sarcastic  encomiums  misled 
the  Countess,  who  sacrificed  without  mercy ;  she  betrayed  my 
secrets,  and  derided  my  pretentions  and  my  hopes,  to  divert 
her  friends. 

"'There  is  a  future  before  him,'  said  Rastignac.  'Some 
day  he  may  be  in  a  position  to  take  a  cruel  revenge ;  his  talents 
are  at  least  equal  to  his  courage ;  and  I  should  consider  those 
who  attack  him  very  rash,  for  he  has  a  good  memory ' 


146  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

"'And  writes  memoirs,'  put  in  the  Countess,  who  seemed 
to  object  to  the  deep  silence  that  prevailed. 

"'Memoirs  of  a  sham  countess,  madame,'  replied  Rastig- 
nac.  'Another  sort  of  courage  is  needed  to  write  that  sort 
of  thing.' 

"  '  I  give  him  credit  for  plenty  of  courage/  she  answered; 
'he  is  faithful  to  me.' 

"I  was  greatly  tempted  to  show  myself  suddenly  among 
the  railers,  like  the  shade  of  Banquo  in  Macbeth.  I  should 
have  lost  the  Countess ;  but  I  had  a  friend.  But  love  inspired 
me  all  at  once  with  one  of  those  treacherous  and  fallacious 
subtleties  that  it  can  use  to  soothe  all  our  pangs. 

"If  Fcedora  loved  me,  I  thought,  she  would  be  sure  to  dis- 
guise her  feelings  by  some  mocking  jest.  How  often  the 
heart  protests  against  a  lie  on  the  lips  ! 

"  Well,  very  soon  my  audacious  rival,  left  alone  with  the 
Countess,  rose  to  go. 

"  '  What !  already  ?  '  asked  she  in  a  coaxing  voice  that  set  rny 
heart  beating.  '  Will  you  not  give  me  a  few  more  minutes  ? 
Have  you  nothing  more  to  say  to  me  ?  will  you  never  sacrifice 
any  of  your  pleasures  for  me  ? ' 

"  He  went  away. 

" '  Ah  !  '  she  yawned ;  '  how  very  tiresome  they  all  are  ! ' 

"  She  pulled  a  cord  energetically  till  the  sound  of  a  bell 
rang  through  the  place  ;  then,  humming  a  few  notes  of  "  Pria 
che  spunti,"  the  Countess  entered  her  room.  No  one  had  ever 
heard  her  sing ;  her  muteness  had  called  forth  the  wildest 
explanations.  She  had  promised  her  first  lover,  so  it  was 
said,  who  had  been  held  captive  by  her  talent,  and  whose 
jealousy  over  her  stretched  beyond  his  grave,  that  she  would 
never  allow  others  to  experience  a  happiness  that  he  wished  to 
be  his  and  his  alone. 

"  I  exerted  every  power  of  my  soul  to  catch  the  sounds. 
Higher  and  higher  rose  the  notes ;  Fcedora's  life  seemed  to 
dilate  within  her  ;  her  throat  poured  forth  all  its  richest  tones; 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  147 

something  well-nigh  divine  entered  into  the  melody.  There 
was  a  bright  purity  and  clearness  of  tone  in  the  Countess* 
voice,  a  thrilling  harmony  which  reached  the  heart  and  stirred 
its  pulses.  Musicians  are  seldom  unemotional ;  a  woman  who 
could  sing  like  that  must  know  how  to  love  indeed.  Her 
beautiful  voice  made  one  more  puzzle  in  a  woman  mysterious 
enough  before.  I  beheld  her  then  as  plainly  as  I  see  you  at 
this  moment.  She  seemed  to  listen  to  herself,  to  experience 
a  secret  rapture  of  her  own ;  she  felt,  as  it  were,  an  ecstacy 
like  that  of  love. 

"She  stood  before  the  hearth  during  the  execution  of  the 
principal  theme  of  the  rondo ;  and  when  she  ceased  her  face 
changed.  She  looked  tired ;  her  features  seemed  to  alter. 
She  had  laid  the  mask  aside ;  her  part  as  an  actress  was  over. 
Yet  the  faded  look  that  came  over  her  beautiful  face,  a  result 
either  of  this  performance  or  of  the  evening's  fatigues,  had  its 
charms,  too. 

"  '  This  is  her  real  self,'  I  thought. 

"  She  set  her  foot  on  a  bronze  bar  of  the  fender  as  if  to 
warm  it,  took  off  her  gloves,  and  drew  over  her  head  the  gold 
chain  from  which  her  bejeweled  scent-bottle  hung.  It  gave 
me  a  quite  indescribable  pleasure  to  watch  the  feline  grace  of 
every  movement ;  the  supple  grace  a  cat  displays  as  it  adjusts 
its  toilette  in  the  sun.  She  looked  at  herself  in  the  mirror 
and  said  aloud  ill-humoredly — '  I  did  not  look  well  this  even- 
ing; my  complexion  is  going  with  alarming  rapidity;  perhaps 
I  ought  to  keep  earlier  hours,  and  give  up  this  life  of  dissipa- 
tion. Does  Justine  mean  to  trifle  with  me  ?  '  She  rang 
again  ;  her  maid  hurried  in.  Where  she  had  been  I  cannot 
tell ;  she  came  in  by  a  secret  staircase.  I  was  anxious  to 
make  a  study  of  her.  I  had  lodged  accusations,  in  my  roman- 
tic imaginings,  against  this  invisible  waiting-woman,  a  tall, 
well-made  brunette. 

"  '  Did  madame  ring  ?  '  exclaimed  the  waiting-maid  as  she 
hurriedly  entered  the  room. 


148  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

'"Yes,  twice,'  answered  Fcedora;  'are  you  really  growing 
deaf  nowadays  ? ' 

"  '  I  was  preparing  madame's  milk  of  almonds.' 

"  Justine  knelt  down  before  her,  unlaced  her  sandals  and 
drew  them  off,  while  her  mistress  lay  carelessly  back  on  her 
cushioned  armchair  beside  the  fire,  yawned,  and  scratched 
her  head.  Every  movement  was  perfectly  natural ;  there  was 
nothing  whatever  to  indicate  the  secret  sufferings  or  emotions 
with  which  I  had  credited  her. 

"  '  George  must  be  in  love  !  '  she  remarked.  '  I  shall  dis- 
miss him.  He  has  drawn  the  curtains  again  to-night  !  What 
does  he  mean  by  it  ? ' 

"All  the  blood  in  my  veins  rushed  to  my  heart  at  this 
observation,  but  no  more  was  said  about  curtains. 

"  '  Life  is  very  empty,'  the  Countess  went  on.  '  Ah  !  be 
careful  not  to  scratch  me  as  you  did  yesterday.  Just  look 
here,  I  still  have  the  marks  of  your  nails  about  me,'  and  she 
held  out  a  little  silken  knee.  She  thrust  her  bare  feet  into 
velvet  slippers  bound  with  swan's-down,  and  unfastened  her 
dress,  while  Justine  prepared  to  comb  her  hair.' 

"  'You  ought  to  marry,  madame,  and  have  children.' 

"  '  Children  ! '  she  cried  ;  '  it  wants  no  more  than  that  to 
finish  me  at  once ;  and  a  husband  !  What  man  is  there  to 
whom  I  could ?  Was  my  hair  well  arranged  to-night?' 

"  '  Not  particularly.' 

"  '  You  are  a  fool ! ' 

"  '  That  way  of  crimping  your  hair  too  much  is  the  least 
becoming  way  possible  for  you.  Large,  smooth  curls  suit  you 
a  great  deal  better.' 

"'Really?' 

"  'Yes,  really,  madame;  that  wavy  style  only  looks  nice  in 
fair  hair.' 

"'Marriage?  never,  never!  Marriage  is  a  commercial 
arrangement,  for  which  I  was  never  made.' 

"  What  a  disheartening   scene  for  a  lover  !     Here   was  a 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  149 

lonely  woman,  without  friends  or  kin,  without  the  religion 
of  love,  without  faith  in  any  affection.  Yet  however  slightly 
she  might  feel  the  need  to  pour  out  her  heart,  a  craving  that 
every  human  being  feels,  it  could  only  be  satisfied  by  gossip- 
ing with  her  maid,  by  trivial  and  indifferent  talk. 1 

grieved  for  her. 

"  Justine  unlaced  her.  I  watched  her  carefully  when  she 
was  at  last  unveiled.  Her  maidenly  form,  in  its  rose-tinged 
whiteness,  was  visible  through  her  shift  in  the  taper  light,  as 
dazzling  as  some  silver  statue  behind  its  gauze  covering. 
No,  there  was  no  defect  that  need  shrink  from  the  stolen 
glances  of  love.  Alas,  a  fair  form  will  overcome  the  stoutest 
resolutions  ! 

"  The  maid  lighted  the  taper  in  the  alabaster  sconce  that 
hung  before  the  bed,  while  her  mistress  sat  thoughtful  and 
silent  before  the  fire.  Justine  went  for  a  warming-pan,  turned 
down  the  bed,  and  helped  to  lay  her  mistress  in  it ;  then, 
after  some  further  time  spent  in  punctiliously  rendering  vari- 
ous services  that  showed  how  seriously  Fcedora  respected 
herself,  her  maid  left  her.  The  Countess  turned  to  and  fro 
several  times,  and  sighed ;  she  was  ill  at  ease ;  faint,  just 
perceptible  sounds,  like  signs  of  impatience,  escaped  from 
her  lips.  She  reached  out  a  hand  to  the  table,  and  took 
a  flask  from  it,  from  which  she  shook  four  or  five  drops  of 
some  brown  liquid  into  some  milk  before  taking  it ;  again 
there  followed  some  painful  sighs,  and  the  exclamation,  '  Mon 
Dieu  ! ' 

"  The  cry,  and  the  tone  in  which  it  was  uttered,  wrung  my 
heart.  By  degrees  she  lay  motionless.  This  frightened  me  ; 
but  very  soon  I  heard  a  sleeper's  heavy,  regular  breathing. 
I  drew  the  rustling  silk  curtains  apart,  left  my  post,  went  to 
the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  gazed  at  her  with  feelings  that  I  can- 
not define.  She  was  so  enchanting  as  she  lay  like  a  child, 
with  her  arm  above  her  head  ;  but  the  sweetness  of  the  fair, 
quiet  visage,  surrounded  by  the  lace,  only  irritated  me.  I 


160  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

had  not  been  prepared  for  the  torture  to  which  I  was  com- 
pelled to  submit. 

"  '  Man  Dieu!'  that  scrap  of  a  thought  which  I  under- 
stood not,  but  must  even  take  as  my  sole  light,  had  suddenly 
modified  my  opinion  of  Fcedora.  Trite  or  profoundly  signi- 
cant,  frivolous  or  of  deep  import,  the  words  might  be  con- 
strued as  expressive  of  either  pleasure  or  pain,  of  physical  or 
of  mental  suffering.  Was  it  a  prayer  or  a  malediction,  a  fore- 
cast or  a  memory,  a  fear  or  a  regret  ?  A  whole  life  lay  in  that 
utterance,  a  life  of  wealth  or  of  penury  ;  perhaps  it  contained  a 
crime  ! 

"The  mystery  that  lurked  beneath  this  fair  semblance 
of  womanhood  grew  afresh ;  there  were  so  many  ways  of 
explaining  Foedora,  that  she  became  inexplicable.  Some  sort 
of  language  seemed  to  flow  from  between  her  lips.  I  put 
thoughts  and  feelings  into  the  accidents  of  her  breathing, 
.whether  weak  or  regular,  gentle  or  labored.  I  shared  her 
dreams ;  I  would  fain  have  divined  her  secrets  by  reading 
them  through  her  slumber.  I  hesitated  among  contradictory 
opinions  and  decisions  without  number.  I  could  not  deny 
my  heart  to  the  woman  I  saw  before  me,  with  the  calm,  pure 
beauty  in  her  face.  I  resolved  to  make  one  more  effort.  If  I 
told  her  the  story  of  my  life,  my  love,  my  sacrifices,  might  I  not 
awaken  pity  in  her  or  draw  a  tear  from  her  who  never  wept  ? 

"As  I  set  all  my  hopes  on  this  last  experiment,  the  sounds 
in  the  streets  showed  that  day  was  at  hand.  For  a  moment's 
space  I  pictured  Fcedora  waking  to  find  herself  in  my  arms. 
I  could  have  stolen  softly  to  her  side  and  slipped  them  about 
her  in  a  close  embrace.  Resolved  to  resist  the  cruel  tyranny 
of  this  thought,  I  hurried  into  the  salon,  heedless  of  any 
sounds  I  might  make  ;  but  luckily  I  came  upon  a  secret  door 
leading  to  a  little  staircase.  As  I  had  expected,  the  key  was 
in  the  lock ;  I  slammed  the  door,  went  boldly  out  into  the 
court,  and  gained  the  street  in  three  bounds,  without  looking 
round  to  see  whether  I  was  observed. 


A    WOMAN    WITHOUT  A   HEART.  151 

"  A  dramatist  was  to  read  a  comedy  at  the  Countess'  house 
in  two  days'  time;  I  went  thither,  intending  to  outstay  the 
others,  so  as  to  make  a  rather  singular  request  of  her  ;  I  meant 
to  ask  her  to  keep  the  following  evening  for  me  alone,  and  to 
deny  herself  to  other  comers ;  but  when  I  found  myself  alone 
with  her  my  courage  failed.  Every  tick  of  the  clock  alarmed 
me.  It  wanted  only  a  quarter  of  an  hour  of  midnight. 

"'If  I  do  not  speak,'  I  thought  to  myself,  'I  must  smash 
my  head  against  the  corner  of  the  mantelpiece.' 

"I  gave  myself  three  minutes'  grace;  the  three  minutes 
went  by,  and  I  did  not  smash  my  head  upon  the  marble ;  my 
heart  grew  heavy,  like  a  sponge  with  water. 

"  'You  are  exceedingly  amusing,'  said  she. 

"'Ah,  madame,  if  you  could  but  understand  me!1  I  an- 
swered. 

"'What  is  the  matter  with  you?' she  asked.  'You  are 
turning  pale.' 

"  '  I  am  hesitating  to  ask  a  favor  of  you.' 

"  Her  gesture  revived  my  courage.  I  asked  her  to  make 
the  appointment  with  me. 

"  'Willingly,'  she  answered;  'but  why  will  you  not  speak 
to  me  now  ? ' 

"  'To  be  candid  with  you,  I  ought  to  explain  the  full  scope 
of  your  promise :  I  want  to  spend  this  evening  by  your  side, 
as  if  we  were  brother  and  sister.  Have  no  fear;  I  am  aware 
of  your  antipathies ;  you  must  have  divined  me  sufficiently  to 
feel  sure  that  I  should  wish  you  to  do  nothing  that  could  be 
displeasing  to  you  ;  presumption,  moreover,  would  not  thus 
approach  you.  You  have  been  a  friend  to  me,  you  have 
shown  me  kindness  and  great  indulgence  ;  know,  therefore, 
that  to-morrow  I  must  bid  you  farewell.  Do  not  take  back 
your  word,'  I  exclaimed,  seeing  her  about  to  speak,  and  I 
went  away. 

"At  eight  o'clock  one  evening  towards  the  end  of  May, 
Fcedora  and  I  were  alone  together  in  her  gothic  boudoir.  I 


152  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

feared  no  longer ;  I  was  secure  of  happiness.  The  Countess 
should  be  mine,  or  I  would  seek  a  refuge  in  death.  I  had 
condemned  my  faint-hearted  love,  and  a  man  who  acknowl- 
edges his  weakness  is  strong  indeed. 

"The  Countess,  in  her  blue  cashmere  gown,  was  reclining 
on  a  sofa,  with  her  feet  on  a  cushion.  She  wore  an  Oriental 
turban  such  as  painters  assign  to  early  Hebrews ;  its  strange- 
ness added  an  indescribable  coquettish  grace  to  her  attractions. 
A  transitory  charm  seemed  to  have  laid  its  spell  on  her  face ; 
it  might  have  furnished  the  argument  that  at  every  instant  we 
become  new  and  unparalleled  beings,  without  any  resemblance 
to  the  us  of  the  future  or  of  the  past.  I  had  never  yet  seen 
her  so  radiant. 

"  '  Do  you  know  that  you  have  piqued  my  curiosity?  '  she 
said,  laughing. 

"  '  I  will  not  disappoint  it,'  I  said  quietly,  as  I  seated  my- 
self near  her  and  took  the  hand  that  she  surrendered  to  me. 
'  You  have  a  very  beautiful  voice  !  ' 

"  '  You  have  never  heard  me  sing  !  '  she  exclaimed,  starting 
involuntarily  with  surprise. 

"  '  I  will  prove  that  it  is  quite  otherwise,  whenever  it  is 
necessary.  Is  your  delightful  singing  still  to  remain  a  mys- 
tery? Have  no  fear,  I  do  not  wish  to  penetrate  it.' 

"  We  spent  about'an  hour  in  familiar  talk.  While  I  adopted 
the  attitude  and  manner  of  a  man  to  whom  Fcedora  must  re- 
fuse nothing,  I  showed  her  all  a  lover's  deference.  Acting  in 
this  way,  I  received  a  favor — I  was  allowed  to  kiss  her  hand. 
She  daintily  drew  off  the  glove ;  and  my  whole  soul  was  dis- 
solved and  poured  forth  in  that  kiss.  I  was  steeped  in  the 
bliss  of  an  illusion  in  which  I  tried  to  believe. 

"  Fcedora  lent  herself  most  unexpectedly  to  my  caress  and 
my  flatteries.  Do  not  accuse  me  of  faint-heartedness  ;  if  I 
had  gone  a  step  beyond  these  fraternal  compliments,  the  claws 
would  have  been  out  of  the  sheath  and  into  me.  We  re- 
mained perfectly  silent  for  nearly  ten  minutes.  I  was 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  153 

admiring  her,  investing  her  with  the  charms  she  had  not. 
She  was  mine  just  then,  and  mine  only, — this  enchanting 
being  was  mine,  as  was  permissible,  in  my  imagination  ;  my 
longing  wrapped  her  round  and  held  her  close ;  in  my  soul  I 
wedded  her.  The  Countess  was  subdued  and  fascinated  by 
my  magnetic  influence.  Ever  since  I  have  regretted  that  this 
subjugation  was  not  absolute;  but  just  then  I  yearned  for  her 
soul,  her  heart  alone,  and  for  nothing  else.  I  longed  for  an 
ideal  and  perfect  happiness,  a  fair  illusion  that  cannot  last  for 
very  long.  At  last  I  spoke,  feeling  that  the  last  hours  of  my 
frenzy  were  at  hand. 

"'Hear  me,  madame.  I  love  you,  and  you  know  it;  I 
have  said  so  a  hundred  times;  you  must  have  understood  me. 
I  would  not  take  upon  me  the  airs  of  a  coxcomb,  nor  would  I 
flatter  you,  nor  urge  myself  upon  you  like  a  fool  ;  I  would  not 
owe  your  love  to  such  arts  as  these ;  so  I  have  been  misunder- 
stood. What  sufferings  have  I  not  endured  for  your  sake  ! 
For  these,  however,  you  were  not  to  blame ;  but  in  a  few 
minutes  you  shall  decide  for  yourself.  There  are  two  kinds 
of  poverty,  madame.  One  kind  openly  walks  the  street  in 
rags,  an  unconscious  imitator  of  Diogenes,  on  a  scanty  diet, 
reducing  life  to  its  simplest  terms ;  he  is  happier,  maybe,  than 
the  rich;  he  has  fewer  cares  at  any  rate,  and  accepts  such 
portions  of  the  world  as  stronger  spirits  refuse.  Then  there  is 
poverty  in  splendor,  a  Spanish  pauper,  concealing  the  life  of 
a  beggar  by  his  title,  his  bravery,  and  his  pride ;  poverty  that 
wears  a  white  waistcoat  and  yellow  kid  gloves,  a  beggar  with 
a  carriage,  whose  whole  career  will  be  wrecked  for  lack  of  a 
half-penny.  Poverty  of  the  first  kind  belongs  to  the  popu- 
lace ;  the  second  kind  is  that  of  blacklegs,  of  kings,  and  of 
men  of  talent.  I  am  neither  a  man  of  the  people,  nor  a  king, 
nor  a  swindler ;  possibly  I  have  no  talent  either ;  I  am  an 
exception.  With  the  name  I  bear  I  must  die  sooner  than  beg. 
Set  your  mind  at  rest,  madame,'  I  said  ;  'to-day  I  have 
abundance,  I  possess  sufficient  of  the  clay  for  my  needs  ; '  for 


154  THE    WILD  ASS>    SKIN. 

the  hard  look  passed  over  her  face  which  we  wear  whenever  a 
well-dressed  beggar  takes  us  by  surprise.  '  Do  you  remember 
the  day  when  you  wished  to  go  to  the  Gymnase  without  me, 
never  believing  that  I  should  be  there?  '  I  went  on. 

"She  nodded. 

"  '  I  had  laid  out  my  last  five-franc  piece  that  I  might  see 
you  there.  Do  you  recollect  our  walk  in  the  Jardin  des 
Plantes?  The  hire  of  your  cab  took  everything  I  had.' 

"  I  told  her  about  my  sacrifices,  and  described  the  life  I  led  ; 
heated  not  with  wine,  as  I  am  to-day,  but  by  the  generous  en- 
thusiasm of  my  heart,  my  passion  overflowed  in  burning  words ; 
I  have  forgotten  how  the  feelings  within  me  blazed  forth ; 
neither  memory  nor  skill  of  mine  could  possibly  reproduce  it. 
It  was  no  colorless  chronicle  of  blighted  affections ;  my  love 
was  strengthened  by  fair  hopes  ;  and  such  words  came  to  me, 
by  love's  inspiration,  that  each  had  power  to  set  forth  a  whole 
life — like  echoes  of  the  cries  of  a  soul  in  torment.  In  such 
tones  the  last  prayers  ascend  from  dying  men  on  the  battle- 
field. I  stopped,  for  she  was  weeping.  Grand  Dieu !  I 
had  reaped  an  actor's  reward,  the  success  of  a  counterfeit 
passion  displayed  at  the  cost  of  five  francs  paid  at  the  theatre 
door.  I  had  drawn  tears  from  her. 

"  '  If  I  had  known '  she  said. 

"  '  Do  not  finish  the  sentence,"  I  broke  in.  '  Even  now  I 
love  you  well  enough  to  murder  you ' 

"She  reached  for  the  bell-pull.  I  burst  into  a  roar  of 
laughter. 

"  '  Do  not  call  any  one,'  I  said.  '  I  shall  leave  you  to  finish 
your  life  in  peace.  It  would  be  a  blundering  kind  of  hatred 
that  would  murder  you  !  You  need  not  fear  violence  of  any 
kind ;  I  have  spent  a  whole  night  at  the  foot  of  your  bed 
without ' 

"'Monsieur 'she  exclaimed,  blushing;  but  after  that 

first  impulse  of  modesty  that  even  the  most  hardened  women 
must  surely  own,  she  flung  a  scornful  glance  at  me,  and  said — 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  155 

"  'You  must  have  been  very  cold.' 

" '  Do  you  think  that  I  set  such  value  on  your  beauty, 
madame,'  I  answered,  guessing  the  thoughts  that  moved  her. 
'  Your  beautiful  face  is  for  me  a  promise  of  a  soul  yet  more 
beautiful.  Madame,  those  to  whom  a  woman  is  merely  a 
woman  can  always  purchase  odalisques  fit  for  the  seraglio,  and 
achieve  their  happiness  at  a  small  cost.  But  I  aspired  to 
something  higher  ;  I  wanted  the  life  of  close  communion  of 
heart  and  heart  with  you  that  have  no  heart.  I  know  that 
now.  If  you  were  to  belong  to  another,  I  could  kill  him. 
And  yet,  no ;  for  you  would  love  him,  and  his  death  might 
hurt  you  perhaps.  What  agony  this  is  ! '  I  cried. 

"  '  If  it  is  any  comfort  to  you,'  she  retorted  cheerfully, 
'  I  can  assure  you  that  I  shall  never  belong  to  any  one " 

"  '  So  you  offer  an  affront  to  God  Himself,'  I  interrupted ; 
'  and  you  will  be  punished  for  it.  Some  day  you  will  lie  upon 
your  sofa  suffering  unheard-of  ills,  unable  to  endure  the  light 
or  the  slightest  sound,  condemned  to  live  as  it  were  in  the 
tomb.  Then,  when  you  seek  the  causes  of  those  lingering 
and  avenging  torments,  you  will  remember  the  woes  that  you 
distributed  so  lavishly  upon  your  way.  You  have  sown  curses, 
and  hatred  will  be  your  reward.  We  are  the  real  judges, 
the  executioners  of  a  justice  that  reigns  here  below,  which 
overrules  the  justice  of  man  and  the  laws  of  God.' 

"  '  No  doubt  it  is  very  culpable  in  me  not  to  love  you,'  she 
said,  laughing.  '  Am  I  to  blame  ?  No.  I  do  not  love  you  ; 
you  are  a  man,  that  is  sufficient.  I  am  happy  by  myself;  why 
should  I  give  up  my  way  of  living,  a  selfish  way,  if  you  will, 
for  the  caprices  of  a  master  ?  Marriage  is  a  sacrament  by 
virtue  of  which  each  imparts  nothing  but  vexations  to  the 
other.  Children,  moreover,  worry  me.  Did  I  not  faithfully 
warn  you  about  my  nature  ?  Why  are  you  not  satisfied  to 
have  my  friendship  ?  I  wish  I  could  make  you  amends  for  all 
the  troubles  I  have  caused  you,  through  not  guessing  the  value 
of  your  poor  five- franc  pieces.  I  appreciate  the  extent  of  your 


156  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

sacrifices ;  but  your  devotion  and  delicate  tact  can  be  repaid 
by  love  alone,  and  I  care  so  little  for  you,  that  this  scene  has 
a  disagreeable  effect  upon  me.' 

"'I  am  fully  aware  of  my  absurdity,'  I  said,  unable  to 
restrain  my  tears.  '  Pardon  me,'  I  went  on,  '  it  was  a  delight 
to  hear  those  cruel  words  you  have  just  uttered,  so  well  I  love 
you.  O,  if  I  could  testify  my  love  with  every  drop  of  blood 
in  me !  ' 

"  '  Men  always  repeat  these  classical  formulas  to  us,  more 
or  less  effectively,'  she  answered,  still  smiling.  '  But  it  appears 
very  difficult  to  die  at  our  feet,  for  I  see  corpses  of  that  kind 
about  me  everywhere.  It  is  twelve  o'clock.  Allow  me  to 
go  to  bed.' 

"  'And  in  two  hours'  time  you  will  cry  to  yourself,  Ah,  mon 
Dieu  .' ' 

"  'Like  the  day  before  yesterday!  Yes,'  she  said,  'I  was 
thinking  of  my  stockbroker ;  I  had  forgotten  to  tell  him  to 
convert  my  five  per  cent,  stock  into  the  threes,  and  the  three 
per  cents,  had  fallen  during  the  day.' 

"  I  looked  at  her  and  my  eyes  glittered  with  anger.  Some- 
times a  crime  may  be  a  whole  romance  ;  I  understood  that 
just  then.  She  was  so  accustomed,  no  doubt,  to  the  most  im- 
passioned declarations  of  this  kind,  that  my  words  and  my 
tears  were  forgotten  already. 

' ' '  Would  you  marry  a  peer  of  France  ? '  I  demanded 
abruptly. 

"  '  If  he  were  a  duke  I  might.' 

"  I  snzed  my  hat  and  made  her  a  bow. 

"  '  Permit  me  to  accompany  you  to  the  door,'  she  said, 
cutting  irony  in  her  tones,  in  the  poise  of  her  head,  and  in 
her  gesture. 

"  '  Madame ' 

"  '  Monsieur?' 

"  '  I  shall  never  see  you  again.' 

"  'I  hope  not,'  and  she  insolently  inclined  her  head. 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  157 

"  '  You  wish  to  be  a  duchess?  '  I  cried,  excited  by  a  sort  of 
madness  that  her  insolence  roused  in  me.  '  You  are  wild  for 
honors  and  titles  ?  Well,  only  let  me  love  you  ;  bid  my  pen 
write  and  my  voice  speak  for  you  alone ;  be  the  inmost  soul 
of  my  life,  my  guiding  star  !  Then  only  accept  me  for  your 
husband  as  a  minister,  a  peer  of  France,  a  duke.  I  will  make 
of  myself  whatever  you  would  have  me  be  !' 

"  'You  made  good  use  of  the  time  you  spent  with  the  ad- 
vocate,' she  said,  smiling.  'There  is  a  fervency  about  your 
pleadings. ' 

"  '  The  present  is  yours,'  I  cried,  '  but  the  future  is  mine  ! 
I  only  lose  a  woman  ;  you  are  losing  a  name  and  a  family. 
Time  is  big  with  my  revenge ;  time  will  spoil  your  beauty, 
and  yours  will  be  a  solitary  death  ;  and  enduring  glory  waits 
for  me  !' 

"'Thanks  for  your  peroration!'  she  said,  repressing  a 
yawn  ;  the  wish  that  she  might  never  see  me  again  was  ex- 
pressed in  her  whole  bearing. 

"  That  remark  silenced  me.  I  flung  at  her  a  glance  full  of 
hatred,  and  hurried  away. 

"Fcedora  must  be  forgotten;  I  must  cure  myself  of  my 
infatuation,  and  betake  myself  once  more  to  my  lonely  studies, 
or  die.  So  I  set  myself  tremendous  tasks ;  I  determined  to 
complete  my  labors.  For  fifteen  days  I  never  left  my  garret, 
spending  whole  nights  in  pallid  thought.  I  worked  with  diffi- 
culty, and  by  fits  and  starts,  despite  my  courage  and  the 
stimulation  of  despair.  The  muse  had  fled.  I  could  not 
exorcise  the  brilliant  mocking  image  of  Fcedora.  Something 
morbid  brooded  over  every  thought,  a  vague  longing  as  dread- 
ful as  remorse.  I  imitated  the  anchorites  of  the  Thebaid.  If 
I  did  not  pray  as  they  did,  I  lived  a  life  in  the  desert  like 
theirs,  hewing  out  my  ideas  as  they  were  wont  to  hew  their 
rocks.  I  could  at  need  have  girdled  my  waist  with  spikes, 
that  physical  suffering  might  quell  mental  anguish. 

"  One  evening  Pauline  found  her  way  into  my  room. 
11 


158  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIA'. 

"'You  are  killing  yourself,'  she  said,  imploringly;  'you 
should  go  out  and  see  your  friends 

"  '  Pauline,  you  were  a  true  prophet ;  Foadora  is  killing  me, 
I  want  to  die.  My  life  is  intolerable." 

"  '  Is  there  only  one  woman  in  the  world  ?'  she  asked  smil- 
ing. '  Why  make  yourself  so  miserable  in  so  short  a  life?' 

"  I  looked  at  Pauline  in  bewilderment.  She  left  me  before 
I  noticed  her  departure;  the  sound  of  her  words  had  reached 
me,  but  not  their  sense.  Very  soon  I  had  to  take  my  memoirs 
in  manuscript  to  my  literary  contractor.  I  was  so  absorbed 
by  my  passion,  that  I  could  not  remember  how  I  had  managed 
to  live  without  money;  I  only  knew  that  the  four  hundred 
and  fifty  francs  due  to  me  would  pay  my  debts.  So  I  went  to 
receive  my  salary,  and  met  Rastignac,  who  thought  me 
changed  and  thinner. 

"  '  What  hospital  have  you  been  discharged  from  ?  '  he 
asked. 

"  'That  woman  is  killing  me,'  I  answered  ;  '  I  can  neither 
despise  her  nor  forget  her.' 

"  '  You  had  much  better  kill  her,  then  perhaps  you  would 
think  no  more  of  her,'  he  said,  laughing. 

"  '  I  have  often  thought  of  it,'  I  replied ;  '  but  though  some- 
times the  thought  of  a  crime  revives  my  spirits,  of  violence 
and  murder,  either  or  both,  I  am  really  incapable  of  carrying 
out  the  design.  The  Countess  is  an  admirable  monster  who 
would  crave  for  pardon,  and  not  every  man,  you  know,  is  an 
Othello.' 

"'She  is  like  every  woman  who  is  beyond  our  reach,' 
Rastignac  interrupted. 

"  '  I  am  mad,'  I  cried ;  '  I  can  feel  the  madness  raging  at 
times  in  my  brain.  My  ideas  are  like  shadows  ;  they  flit 
before  me,  and  I  cannot  grasp  them.  Death  would  be  pref- 
erable to  this  life,  and  I  have  carefully  considered  the  best 
way  of  putting  an  end  to  the  struggle.  I  am  not  thinking  of 
the  living  Fcedora  in  the  Faubourg  Saint  Honore,  but  of  my 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A    HEART.  159 

Foedora  here,'  and  I  tapped  my  forehead.  '  What  do  you  say 
to  opium  ? ' 

"  '  Pshaw  !  horrid  agonies,'  said  Rastignac. 

"  '  Or  charcoal  fumes  ?  ' 

"  '  A  low  dodge.' 

"  'Or  the  Seine?  ' 

"  '  The  drag-nets,  and  the  morgue  too,  are  filthy.' 

"  '  A  pistol-shot?' 

"  'And  if  you  miscalculate,  you  disfigure  yourself  for  life. 
Listen  to  me,'  he  went  on,  '  like  all  young  men,  I  have  pon- 
dered over  suicide.  Which  of  us  hasn't  killed  himself  two  or 
three  times  before  he  is  thirty?  I  find  there  is  no  better 
course  than  to  use  existence  as  a  means  of  pleasure.  Go  in 
for  thorough  dissipation,  and  your  passion  or  you  will  perish 
in  it.  Intemperance,  my  dear  fellow,  commands  all  forms  of 
death.  Does  she  not  wield  the  thunderbolt  of  apoplexy  ? 
Apoplexy  is  a  pistol-shot  that  does  not  miscalculate.  Orgies 
are  lavish  in  all  physical  pleasures ;  is  not  that  the  small 
change  for  opium  ?  And  the  riot  that  makes  us  drink  to 
excess  bears  a  challenge  to  mortal  combat  with  wine.  That 
butt  of  Malmsey  of  the  Duke  of  Clarence's  must  have  had  a 
pleasanter  flavor  than  Seine  mud.  When  we  sink  gloriously 
under  the  table,  is  not  that  a  periodical  death  by  drowning 
on  a  small  scale  ?  If  we  are  picked  up  by  the  police  and 
stretched  out  on  those  chilly  benches  of  theirs  at  the  police- 
station,  do  we  not  enjoy  all  the  pleasures  of  the  morgue  ?  For 
though  we  are  not  blue  and  green,  muddy  and  swollen  corpses, 
on  the  other  hand  we  have  the  consciousness  of  the  climax. 

"  '  Ah,'  he  went  on,  '  this  protracted  suicide  has  nothing  in 
common  with  a  bankrupt  grocer's  demise.  Tradespeople 
have  brought  the  river  into  disrepute ;  they  fling  themselves 
in  to  soften  their  creditors'  hearts.  In  your  place  I  should 
endeavor  to  die  gracefully ;  and  if  you  wish  to  invent  a  novel 
way  of  doing  it,  by  struggling  with  life  after  this  manner,  I 
will  be  your  second.  I  am  disappointed  and  sick  of  every- 


160  THE    IVH.D    ASS'    SKIN. 

thing.  The  Alsacienne,  whom  it  was  proposed  that  I  should 
marry,  had  six  toes  on  her  left  foot ;  I  cannot  possibly  live 
with  a  woman  who  has  six  toes  !  It  would  get  about  to  a 
certainty,  and  then  I  should  be  ridiculous.  Her  income  was 
only  eighteen  thousand  francs;  her  fortune  diminished  in 
quantity  as  her  toes  increased.  The  devil  take  it ;  if  we 
begin  an  outrageous  sort  of  life,  we  may  come  on  some  bit  of 
luck,  perhaps  ! ' 

"  Rastignac's  eloquence  carried  me  away.  The  attrac- 
tions of  the  plan  shone  too  temptingly,  hopes  were  kindled, 
the  poetical  aspects  of  the  matter  appealed  to  a  poet. 

"  '  How  about  money  ?  '  I  said. 

"  '  Haven't  you  four  hundred  and  fifty  francs  ?  ' 

"  '  Yes,  but  debts  to  my  landlady  and  the  tailor ' 

"  '  You  would  pay  your  tailor  ?  You  will  never  be  any- 
thing whatever,  not  so  much  as  a  minister.' 

"  '  But  can  one  do  with  twenty  louis  ?  ' 

"  '  Go  to  the  gaming-table.' 

"  I  shuddered. 

"  '  You  are  going  to  launch  out  into  what  I  call  systematic 
dissipation,'  said  he,  noticing  my  scruples,  '  and  yet  you  are 
afraid  of  a  green  table-cloth.' 

"  '  Listen  to  me,'  I  answered.  '  I  promised  my  father  never 
to  set  foot  in  a  gaming-house.  Not  only  is  that  a  sacred 
promise,  but  I  still  feel  an  unconquerable  disgust  whenever  I 
pass  a  gambling-hell  ;  take  the  money  and  go  without  me. 
While  our  fortune  is  at  stake,  I  will  set  my  own  affairs  straight, 
and  then  I  will  go  to  your  lodgings  and  wait  for  you." 

"  That  was  the  way  I  went  to  perdition.  A  young  man 
has  only  to  come  across  a  woman  who  will  not  love  him, 
or  a  woman  who  loves  him  too  well,  and  his  whole  life 
becomes  a  chaos.  Prosperity  swallows  up  our  energy  just 
as  adversity  obscures  our  virtues.  Back  once  more  in  my 
Hotel  de  Saint-Quentin,  I  gazed  about  me  a  long  while  in 
the  garret  where  I  had  led  my  scholar's  temperate  life,  a  life 


A    WOMAX    WITHOUT  A    HEART.  161 

which  would  perhaps  have  been  a  long  and  honorable  one, 
and  that  I  ought  not  to  have  quitted  for  the  fevered  existence 
which  had  urged  me  to  the  brink  of  a  precipice.  Pauline 
surprised  me  in  this  dejected  attitude. 

«  <  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ?  '  she  asked. 

"  I  rose  and  quietly  counted  out  the  money  owing  to  her 
mother,  and  added  to  it  sufficient  to  pay  for  six  months'  rent 
in  advance.  She  watched  me  in  some  alarm. 

"  '  I  am  going  to  leave  you,  dear  Pauline.' 

"  '  I  knew  it !  '  she  exclaimed. 

"  '  Listen,  my  child.  I  have  not  given  up  the  idea  of  coming 
back.  Keep  my  room  for  me  for  six  months.  If  I  do  not 
return  by  the  fifteenth  of  November,  you  will  come  into  pos- 
session of  my  things.  This  sealed  packet  of  manuscript  is  the 
fair  copy  of  my  great  work  on  '  The  Will,  "  I  went  on,  point- 
ing to  a  package.  Will  you  deposit  it  in  the  King's  Library  ? 
And  you  may  do  as  you  wish  with  everything  that  is  left 
here.' 

"  Her  look  weighed  heavily  on  my  heart ;  Pauline  was  an 
embodiment  of  conscience  there  before  me. 

"  '  I  shall  have  no  more  lessons,'  she  said,  pointing  to  the 
piano.' 

"  I  did  not  answer  that. 

"  '  Will  you  write  to  me  ?  ' 

"  'Good-bye,  Pauline.' 

"  I  gently  drew  her  towards  me,  and  set  a  kiss  on  that  inno- 
cent fair  brow  of  hers,  like  snow  that  has  not  yet  touched  the 
earth — a  father's  or  a  brother's  kiss.  She  fled.  I  would  not 
see  Madame  Gaudin,  hung  my  key  in  its  wonted  place,  and 
departed.  I  was  almost  at  the  end  of  the  Rue  de  Cluny  when 
I  heard  a  woman's  light  footstep  behind  me. 

"  '  I  have  embroidered  this  purse  for  you,"  Pauline  said  ; 
'  will  you  refuse  even  that  ?  ' 

"  By  the  light  of  the  street  lamp  I  thought  I  saw  tears  in 
Pauline's  eyes,  and  I  groaned.  Moved  perhaps  by  a  common 


162  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKTN. 

impulse,  we  parted  in  haste  like  people  who  fear  the  conta- 
gion of  the  plague. 

"  As  I  waited  with  dignified  calmness  for  Rastignac's  return, 
his  room  seemed  a  grotesque  interpretation  of  the  sort  of  life 
I  was  about  to  enter  upon.  The  clock  on  the  chimney-piece 
was  surmounted  by  a  Venus  resting  on  her  tortoise  ;  a  half- 
smoked  cigar  lay  in  her  arms.  Costly  furniture  of  various 
kinds — love-tokens,  very  likely — was  scattered  about.  Old 
shoes  lay  on  a  luxurious  sofa.  The  comfortable  armchair  into 
which  I  had  thrown  myself  bore  as  many  scars  as  a  veteran  ; 
the  arms  were  gashed,  the  back  was  overlaid  with  a  thick, 
stale  deposit  of  pomade  and  hair-oil  from  the  heads  of  all  his 
visitors.  Splendor  and  squalor  were  oddly  mingled,  on  the 
walls,  the  bed,  and  everywhere  else.  You  might  have  thought 
of  a  Neapolitan  palace  and  the  groups  of  beggars  about  it. 
It  was  the  room  of  a  gambler  or  a  good-for-nothing,  where 
the  luxury  exists  merely  for  one  individual,  who  leads  the 
life  of  the  senses  and  does  not  trouble  himself  over  incon- 
sistencies. 

"  There  was  a  certain  imaginative  element  about  the  picture 
it  presented.  Life  was  suddenly  revealed  there  in  its  rags  and 
spangles  as  the  incomplete  thing  it  really  is,  of  course,  but  so 
vividly  and  picturesquely;  it  was  like  a  den  where  a  brigand 
has  heaped  up  all  the  plunder  in  which  he  delights.  Some 
pages  were  missing  from  a  copy  of  Byron's  poems  ;  they  had 
gone  to  light  a  fire  of  a  few  sticks  for  this  young  person,  who 
played  for  stakes  of  a  thousand  francs,  and  had  not  a  faggot ; 
who  kept  a  tilbury,  and  had  not  a  whole  shirt  to  his  back. 
Any  day  a  countess  or  an  actress  or  a  run  of  luck  at  ecarte 
might  set  him  up  with  an  outfit  worthy  of  a  king.  A  candle 
had  been  stuck  into  the  green  bronze  sheath  of  a  vestaholder ; 
a  woman's  portrait  lay  yonder,  torn  out  of  its  carved  gold 
setting.  How  was  it  possible  that  a  young  man,  whose  nature 
craved  excitement,  could  renounce  a  life  so  attractive  by 
reason  of  its  contradictions;  a  life  that  afforded  all  the  de- 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  163 

lights  of  war  in  the  midst  of  peace  ?  I  was  growing  drowsy 
when  Rastignac  kicked  the  door  open  and  shouted — 

"  '  Victory  !     Now  we  can  take  our  time  about  dying.' 

"  He  held  out  his  hat  filled  with  gold  to  me,  and  put  it 
down  on  the  table ;  then  we  pranced  round  it  like  a  pair  of 
cannibals  about  to  eat  a  victim ;  we  stamped,  and  danced, 
and  yelled,  and  sang;  we  gave  each  other  blows  fit  to  kill  an 
elephant,  at  sight  of  all  the  pleasures  of  the  world  contained  in 
that  hat. 

"'Twenty-seven  thousand  francs,' said  Rastignac,  adding 
a  few  bank-notes  to  the  pile  of  gold.  '  That  would  be  enough 
for  other  folk  to  live  upon  ;  will  it  be  sufficient  for  us  to  die 
on  ?  Yes  !  we  will  breathe  our  last  in  a  bath  of  gold — 
hurrah  !'  and  we  capered  afresh. 

"We  divided  the  windfall.  We  began  with  double-napo- 
leons, and  came  down  to  the  smaller  coins,  one  by  one. 
'This  for  you,  this  for  me,'  we  kept  on  saying,  distilling  our 
joy  drop  by  drop. 

"'We  won't  go  to  sleep,'  cried  Rastignac.  'Joseph! 
some  punch !  ' 

"  He  threw  gold  to  his  faithful  attendant. 

"  'There  is  your  share,"  he  said,  'go  and  bury  yourself,  if 
you  can.' 

"  Next  day  I  went  to  Lesage  and  chose  my  furniture,  took 
the  rooms  that  you  know  in  the  Rue  Taitbout,  and  left  the 
decoration  to  one  of  the  best  upholsterers.  I  bought  horses. 
I  plunged  into  a  vortex  of  pleasures,  at  once  hollow  and  real. 
I  went  in  for  play,  gaining  and  losing  enormous  sums,  but 
only  at  friends'  houses  and  in  ball-rooms  ;  never  in  gaming- 
houses, for  which  I  still  retained  the  holy  horror  of  my  early 
days.  Without  meaning  it,  I  made  some  friends,  either 
through  quarrels  or  owing  to  the  easy  confidence  established 
among  those  who  are  going  to  the  bad  together;  nothing, 
possibly,  makes  us  cling  to  one  another  so  tightly  as  our  evil 
propensities. 


164  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN. 

"I  made  several  ventures  in  literature,  which  were  flatter- 
ingly received.  Great  men  who  followed  the  profession  of 
letters,  having  nothing  to  fear  from  me,  belauded  me,  not  so 
much  on  account  of  my  merits  as  to  cast  a  slur  on  those  of 
their  rivals. 

"I  became  a  'free-liver,'  to  make  use  of  the  picturesque 
expression  appropriated  by  the  language  of  excess.  I  made  it 
a  point  of  honor  not  to  be  long  about  dying,  and  that  my  zeal 
and  prowess  should  eclipse  those  displayed  by  all  others  in  the 
jolliest  company.  I  was  always  spruce  and  carefully  dressed. 
I  had  some  reputation  for  cleverness.  There  was  no  sign 
about  me  of  that  fearful  way  of  living  which  makes  a  man  into 
a  mere  digesting  apparatus,  a  funnel,  a  pampered  beast. 

"Very  soon  debauch  rose  before  me  in  all  the  majesty  of 
its  horror,  and  I  grasped  all  that  it  meant.  Those  prudent, 
steady-going  characters  who  are  laying  down  wine  in  bottles 
for  their  heirs,  can  barely  conceive,  it  is  true,  of  so  wide  a 
theory  of  life,  nor  appreciate  its  normal  condition;  but  when 
will  you  instil  poetry  into  the  provincial  intellect?  Opium 
and  tea,  with  all  their  delights,  are  merely  drugs  to  folk  of 
that  calibre. 

"Is  not  the  imperfect  sybarite  to  be  met  with  even  in  Paris 
itself,  that  intellectual  metropolis?  Unfit  to  endure  the 
fatigues  of  pleasure,  this  sort  of  person,  after  a  drinking  bout, 
is  very  much  like  those  worthy  bourgeois  who  fall  foul  of 
music  after  hearing  a  new  opera  by  Rossini.  Does  he  not  re- 
nounce these  courses  in  the  same  frame  of  mind  that  leads  an 
abstemious  man  to  forswear  RufFec  pates,  because  the  first  one, 
forsooth,  gave  him  the  indigestion  ? 

"  Debauch  is  as  surely  an  art  as  poetry,  and  is  not  for  craven 
spirits.  To  penetrate  its  mysteries  and  appreciate  its  charms, 
conscientious  application  is  required  ;  and  as  with  every  path 
of  knowledge,  the  way  is  thorny  and  forbidding  at  the  outset. 
The  great  pleasures  of  humanity  are  hedged  about  with  for- 
midable obstacles;  not  its  single  enjoyments,  but  enjoyment 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  165 

as  a  system,  a  system  which  establishes  seldom-experienced 
sensations  and  makes  them  habitual,  which  concentrates  and 
multiplies  them  for  us,  creating  a  dramatic  life  within  our  life, 
and  imperatively  demanding  a  prompt  and  enormous  expendi- 
ture of  vitality.  War,  power,  art,  like  debauch,  are  all  forms  of 
demoralization,  equally  remote  from  the  faculties  of  humanity, 
equally  profound,  and  all  are  alike  difficult  of  access.  But 
when  man  has  once  stormed  the  heights  of  these  grand  mys- 
teries, does  he  not  walk  in  another  world  ?  Are  not  generals, 
ministers,  and  artists  carried,  more  or  less,  towards  destruction 
by  the  need  of  violent  distractions  in  an  existence  so  remote 
from  ordinary  life  as  theirs  ? 

"  War,  after  all,  is  the  excess  of  bloodshed,  as  the  excess 
of  self-interest  produces  politics.  Excesses  of  every  sort  are 
brothers.  These  social  enormities  possess  the  attraction  of 
the  abyss;  they  draw  us  towards  themselves  as  St.  Helena 
beckoned  Napoleon ;  we  are  fascinated,  our  heads  swim,  we 
wish  to  sound  their  depths,  though  we  cannot  account  for  the 
wish.  Perhaps  the  thought  of  infinity  dwells  in  these  preci- 
pices, perhaps  they  contain  some  colossal  flattery  for  the  soul 
of  man  ;  for  is  he  not,  then,  wholly  absorbed  in  himself? 

"The  wearied  artist  needs  a  complete  contrast  to  his  para- 
dise of  imaginings  and  of  studious  hours  ;  he  either  craves, 
like  God,  the  seventh  day  of  rest,  or  with  Satan,  the  pleasures 
of  hell ;  so  that  his  senses  may  have  free  play  in  opposition  to 
the  employment  of  his  faculties.  Byron  could  never  have 
taken  for  his  relaxation  to  the  independent  gentleman's  de- 
lights of  boston  and  gossip,  for  he  was  a  poet,  and  so  must 
needs  pit  Greece  against  Mahmoud. 

"In  war,  is  not  man  an  angel  of  extirpation,  a  sort  of 
executioner  on  a  gigantic  scale?  Must  not  the  spell  be  strong 
indeed  that  makes  us  undergo  such  horrid  sufferings  so  hostile 
to  our  weak  frames,  sufferings  that  encircle  every  strong  pas- 
sion with  a  hedge  of  thorns  ?  The  tobacco-smoker  is  seized 
with  convulsions,  and  goes  through  a  kind  of  agony  conse- 


166  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

quent  upon  his  excesses ;  but  has  he  not  borne  a  part  in  de- 
lightful festivals  in  realms  unknown  ?  Has  Europe  ever  ceased 
from  wars?  She  has  never  given  herself  time  to  wipe  the 
stains  from  her  feet  that  are  steeped  in  blood  to  the  ankle. 
Mankind  at  large  is  carried  away  by  fits  of  intoxication,  as 
nature  has  its  accessions  of  love. 

"  For  men  in  private  life,  for  a  vegetating  Mirabeau  dreaming 
of  storms  in  a  time  of  calm,  excess  comprises  all  things ;  it 
perpetually  embraces  the  whole  sum  of  life  ;  it  is  something 
better  still — it  is  a  duel  with  an  antagonist  of  unknown 
power,  a  monster,  terrible  at  first  sight,  that  must  be  seized 
by  the  horns,  a  labor  that  cannot  be  imagined. 

"  Suppose  that  nature  has  endowed  you  with  a  feeble 
stomach  or  one  of  limited  capacity ;  you  acquire  a  mastery 
over  it  and  improve  it ;  you  learn  to  carry  your  liquor ;  you 
grow  accustomed  to  being  drunk  ;  you  pass  whole  nights  with- 
out sleep ;  at  last  you  acquire  the  constitution  of  a  colonel  of 
cuirassiers ;  and  in  this  way  you  create  yourself  afresh,  as  if 
to  fly  in  the  face  of  Providence. 

"A  man  transformed  after  this  sort  is  like  a  neophyte  who 
has  at  last  become  a  veteran,  has  accustomed  his  mind  to  shot 
and  shell  and  his  legs  to  lengthy  marches.  When  the  monster's 
hold  on  him  is  still  uncertain,  and  it  is  not  yet  known  which 
will  have  the  better  of  it,  they  roll  over  and  over,  alternately 
victor  and  vanquished,  in  a  world  where  everything  is  wonder- 
ful, where  every  ache  of  the  soul  is  laid  to  sleep,  where  only 
the  shadows  of  ideas  are  revived. 

"This  furious  struggle  has  already  become  a  necessity  for 
us.  The  prodigal  has  struck  a  bargain  for  all  the  enjoyments 
with  which  life  teems  abundantly,  at  the  price  of  his  own 
death,  like  the  mythical  persons  in  the  legends  who  sold  them- 
selves to  the  devil  for  the  power  of  doing  evil.  For  them, 
instead  of  flowing  quietly  on  its  monotonous  course  in  the 
depths  of  some  counting-house  or  study,  life  is  poured  out  in 
a  boiling  torrent. 


A    WOMAN    WITHOUT  A    HEART.  167 

"  Excess  is,  in  short,  for  the  body  what  the  mystic's  ecstasy 
is  for  the  soul.  Intoxication  steeps  you  in  fantastic  imaginings 
every  whit  as  strange  as  those  of  ecstatics.  You  know  hours 
as  full  of  rapture  as  a  young  girl's  dreams  ;  you  travel  withoyt 
fatigue;  you  chat  pleasantly  with  your  friends;  words  come 
to  you  with  a  whole  life  in  each,  and  fresh  pleasures  without 
regrets ;  poems  are  set  forth  for  you  in  a  few  brief  phrases. 
The  coarse  animal  satisfaction,  in  which  science  has  tried  to 
find  a  soul,  is  followed  by  the  enchanted  drowsiness  that  men 
sigh  for  under  the  burden  of  consciousness.  Is  it  not  because 
they  all  feel  the  need  of  absolute  repose  ?  Because  excess  is 
a  sort  of  toll  that  genius  pays  to  pain  ? 

"Look  at  all  great  men;  nature  made  them  pleasure- 
loving  or  base,  every  one.  Some  mocking  or  jealous  power 
corrupted  them  in  either  soul  or  body,  so  as  to  make  all  their 
powers  futile,  and  their  efforts  of  no  avail. 

"All  men  and  all  things  appear  before  you  in  the  guise  you 
choose,  in  those  hours  when  wine  has  sway.  You  are  lord  of 
all  creation  ;  you  transform  it  at  your  pleasure.  And  through- 
out this  unceasing  delirium,  play  may  pour,  at  your  will,  its 
molten  lead  into  your  veins. 

"Some  day  you  will  fall  into  the  monster's  power.  Then 
you  will  have,  as  I  had,  a  frenzied  awakening,  with  impotence 
sitting  by  your  pillow.  Are  you  an  old  soldier?  Phthisis 
attacks  you.  A  diplomatist  ?  An  aneurism  hangs  death  in 
your  heart  by  a  thread.  It  will  perhaps  be  consumption  that 
will  cry  to  me,  '  Let  us  be  going !'  as  to  Raphael  of  Urbino, 
in  old  time,  killed  by  an  excess  of  love. 

"  In  this  way  I  have  existed.  I  was  launched  into  the  world 
too  early  or  too  late.  My  energy  would  have  been  dangerous 
there,  no  doubt,  if  I  had  not  squandered  it  in  such  ways  as 
these.  Was  not  the  world  rid  of  an  Alexander,  by  the  cup 
of  Hercules,  at  the  close  of  a  drinking  bout. 

"  There  are  some,  the  sport  of  destiny,  who  must  either 
have  heaven  or  hell,  the  hospice  of  St.  Bernard  or  riotous 


168  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN. 

excess.  Only  just  now  I  lacked  the  heart  to  moralize  about 
those  two,"  and  he  pointed  to  Euphrasia  and  Aquilina.  "  They 
are  types  of  my  own  personal  history,  images  of  my  life  !  I 
could  scarcely  reproach  them ;  they  stood  before  me  like 
judges. 

"In  the  midst  of  this  drama  that  I  was  enacting,  and  while 
my  distracting  disorder  was  at  its  height,  two  crises  super- 
vened ;  each  brought  me  keen  and  abundant  pangs.  The 
first  came  a  few  days  after  I  had  flung  myself,  like  Sardana- 
palus,  on  my  pyre.  I  met  Fcedora  under  the  peristyle  of  the 
Bouffons.  We  both  were  waiting  for  our  carriages. 

"  'Ah  !  so  you  are  living  yet.' 

"That  was  the  meaning  of  her  smile,  and  probably  of  the 
spiteful  words  she  murmured  into  the  ear  of  her  cicisbeo,  tell- 
ing him  my  history,  no  doubt,  rating  mine  as  a  common  love 
affair.  She  was  deceived,  yet  she  was  applauding  her  per- 
spicacity. Oh,  that  I  should  be  dying  for  her,  must  still 
adore  her,  always  see  her  through  my  potations,  see  her  still 
when  I  was  overcome  with  wine,  or  in  the  arms  of  courtesans ; 
and  know  that  I  was  a  target  for  her  scornful  jests  ?  Oh,  that  I 
should  be  unable  to  tear  the  love  of  her  out  of  my  breast  and 
to  fling  it  at  her  feet ! 

"  Well,  I  quickly  exhausted  my  funds,  but  owing  to  those 
three  years  of  discipline  I  enjoyed  the  most  robust  health, 
and  on  the  day  that  I  found  myself  without  a  penny  I  felt 
remarkably  well.  In  order  to  carry  on  the  process  of  dying, 
I  signed  bills  at  short  dates,  and  the  day  came  when  they  must 
be  met.  Painful  excitements  !  but  how  they  quicken  the  pulses 
of  youth  !  I  was  not  prematurely  aged  ;  I  was  young  yet,  and 
full  of  vigor  and  life. 

"  At  my  first  debt  all  my  virtues  came  to  life;  slowly  and 
despairingly  they  seemed  to  pace  towards  me  ;  but  I  could  com- 
pound with  them — they  were  like  aged  aunts  that  begin  with 
a  scolding  and  end  by  bestowing  tears  and  money  upon  you. 

"  Imagination  was  less  yielding ;  I  saw  my  name  bandied 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  169 

about  through  every  city  in  Europe.  '  One's  name  is  oneself,' 
says  Eusebe  Salverte.  After  these  excursions  I  returned  to 
the  room  I  had  never  quitted,  like  a  doppel-ganger  in  a  Ger- 
man tale,  and  came  to  myself  with  a  start. 

"  I  used  to  see  with  indifference  a  banker's  messenger  going 
on  his  errands  through  the  streets  of  Paris,  like  a  commercial 
Nemesis,  wearing  his  master's  livery — a  gray  coat  and  a  silver 
badge  ;  but  now  I  hated  the  species  in  advance.  One  of  them 
came  one  morning  to  ask  me  to  meet  eleven  bills  that  I  had 
scrawled  my  name  upon.  My.  signature  was  worth  three 
thousand  francs  !  Taking  me  altogether,  I  myself  was  not 
worth  that  amount.  Sheriff's  deputies  rose  up  before  me, 
turning  their  callous  faces  upon  my  despair,  as  the  hangman 
regards  the  criminal  to  whom  he  says,  '  It  has  just  struck  half- 
past  three.'  I  was  in  the  power  of  their  clerks;  they  could 
scribble  my  name,  drag  it  through  the  mire,  and  jeer  at  it.  I 
was  a  defaulter.  Has  a  debtor  any  right  to  himself?  Could 
not  other  men  call  me  to  account  for  my  way  of  living? 
Why  had  I  eaten  puddings  a  la  chipolata  ?  Why  had  I  iced 
my  wine  ?  Why  had  I  slept,  or  walked,  or  thought,  or  amused 
myself  when  I  had  not  paid  them  ? 

"At  any  moment,  in  the  middle  of  a  poem,  during  some 
train  of  thought,  or  while  I  was  gaily  breakfasting  in  the 
pleasant  company  of  my  friends,  I  might  look  to  see  a  gentle- 
man enter  in  a  coat  of  chestnut-brown,  with  a  shabby  hat  in 
his  hand.  This  gentleman's  appearance  would  signify  my 
debt.  The  bill  I  had  drawn  ;  the  spectre  would  compel  me 
to  leave  the  table  to  speak  to  him,  blight  my  spirits,  despoil 
me  of  my  cheerfulness,  of  my  mistress,  of  all  I  possessed, 
down  to  my  very  bedstead. 

"Remorse  itself  is  more  easily  endured.  Remorse  does 
not  drive  us  into  the  street  nor  into  the  prison  of  Sainte- 
Pelagie ;  it  does  not  force  us  into  the  detestable  sink  of  vice. 
Remorse  only  brings  us  to  the  scaffold,  where  the  executioner 
invests  us  with  a  certain  dignity;  as  we  pay  the  extreme 


170  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

penalty,  everybody  believes  in  our  innocence  ;  but  people  will 
not  credit  a  penniless  prodigal  with  a  single  virtue. 

"  My  debts  had  other  incarnations.  There  is  the  kind  that 
goes  about  on  two  feet,  in  a  green-cloth  coat,  and  blue  spec- 
tacles, carrying  umbrellas  of  various  hues ;  you  come  face  to 
face  with  him  at  the  corner  of  some  street,  in  the  midst  of 
your  mirth.  These  have  the  detestable  prerogative  of  saying, 
'  M.  de  Valentin  owes  me  something  and  does  not  pay.  I 
have  a  hold  on  him.  He  had  better  not  show  me  any  offen- 
sive airs!'  You  must  bow  to  your  creditors,  and,  moreover, 
bow  politely.  '  When  are  you  going  to  pay  me?'  say  they. 
And  you  must  lie,  and  beg  money  of  another  man,  and  cringe 
to  a  fool  seated  on  his  strong  box,  and  receive  sour  looks  in 
return  from  these  horse-leeches;  a  blow  would  be  less  hateful; 
you  must  put  up  with  their  crass  ignorance  and  calculating 
morality.  A  debt  is  a  feat  of  the  imaginative  that  they  can- 
not appreciate.  A  borrower  is  often  carried  away  and  over- 
mastered by  generous  impulses ;  nothing  great,  nothing 
magnanimous  can  move  or  dominate  those  who  live  for  money, 
and  recognize  nothing  but  money.  I  myself  held  money  in 
abhorrence. 

"Or  a  bill  may  undergo  a  final  transformation  into  some 
meritorious  old  man  with  a  family  dependent  upon  him.  My 
creditor  may  be  a  living  picture  for  Greuze,  a  paralytic  with 
his  children  round  him,  a  soldier's  widow,  holding  out  be- 
seeching hands  to  me.  Terrible  creditors  are  those  with  whom 
we  are  forced  to  sympathize,  and  when  their  claims  are  satisfied 
we  owe  them  a  further  debt  of  assistance. 

"The  night  before  the  bills  fell  due,  I  lay  down  with  the 
false  calm  of  those  who  sleep  before  their  approaching  execu- 
tion, or  with  a  duel  in  prospect,  rocked  as  they  are  by  delusive 
hopes.  But  when  I  woke,  when  I  was  cool  and  collected, 
when  I  found  myself  imprisoned  in  a  banker's  portfolio,  and 
floundering  in  statements  covered  with  red  ink — then  my 
debts  sprang  up  everywhere,  like  grasshoppers,  before  my  eyes. 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A    HEART.  171 

There  were  my  debts,  my  clock,  my  armchairs  ;  my  debts  were 
inlaid  in  the  very  furniture  which  I  liked  best  to  use.  These 
gentle  inanimate  slaves  were  to  fall  a  prey  to  the  harpies  of  the 
Chatelet,  were  to  be  carried  off  by  the  broker's  men,  and 
brutally  thrown  on  the  market.  Ah,  my  property  was  a  part 
of  myself! 

"  The  sound  of  the  door-bell  rang  through  my  heart ;  while 
it  seemed  to  strike  at  me,  where  kings  should  be  struck  at — in 
the  head.  Mine  was  a  martyrdom,  without  heaven  for  its  re- 
ward. For  a  magnanimous  nature,  debt  is  a  hell,  and  a  hell, 
moreover,  with  sheriffs  officers  and  brokers  in  it.  An  undis- 
charged debt  is  something  mean  and  sordid  ;  it  is  a  beginning 
of  knavery ;  it  is  something  worse,  it  is  a  lie ;  it  prepares  the 
way  for  crime,  and  brings  together  the  planks  for  the  scaffold. 
My  bills  were  protested.  Three  days  afterwards  I  met  them, 
and  this  is  how  it  happened. 

"A  speculator  came,  offering  to  buy  the  island  in  the  Loire 
belonging  to  me,  where  my  mother  lay  buried.  I  closed  with 
him.  When  I  went  to  his  solicitor  to  sign  the  deeds,  I  felt  a 
cavern-like  chill  in  the  dark  office  that  made  me  shudder ;  it 
was  the  same  cold  dampness  that  had  lain  hold  upon  me  at 
the  brink  of  my  father's  grave.  I  looked  upon  this  as  an  evil 
omen.  I  seemed  to  see  the  shade  of  my  mother,  and  to  hear 
her  voice.  What  power  was  it  that  made  my  own  name  ring 
vaguely  in  my  ears,  in  spite  of  the  clamor  of  bells  ? 

"The  money  paid  down  for  my  island,  when  all  my  debts 
were  discharged,  left  me  in  possession  of  two  thousand  francs. 
I  could  now  have  returned  to  a  scholar's  tranquil  life,  it  is 
true ;  I  could  have  gone  back  to  my  garret  after  having  gained 
an  experience  of  life,  with  my  head  filled  with  the,  results  of 
extensive  observation,  and  with  a  certain  sort  of  reputation 
attaching  to  me.  But  Foedora's  hold  upon  her  victim  was 
not  relaxed.  We  often  met.  I  compelled  her  admirers  to 
sound  my  name  in  her  ears,  by  dint  of  astonishing  them  with 
my  cleverness  and  success,  with  my  horses  and  equipages.  It 


172  THE    WILD  ASS'    SJTLV. 

all  found  her  impassive  and  uninterested ;  so  did  an  ugly  phrase 
of  Rastignac's,  'He  is  killing  himself  for  you.' 

"I  charged  the  world  at  large  with  my  revenge,  but  I  was 
not  happy.  While  I  was  fathoming  the  miry  depths  of  life, 
I  only  recognized  the  more  keenly  at  all  times  the  happi- 
ness of  reciprocal  affection  ;  it  was  a  shadow  that  I  followed 
through  all  that  befell  me  in  my  extravagance,  and  in  my 
wildest  moments.  It  was  my  misfortune  to  be  deceived  in 
my  fairest  beliefs,  to  be  punished  by  ingratitude  for  benefiting 
others,  and  to  receive  uncounted  pleasures  as  the  reward  of 
my  errors — a  sinister  doctrine,  but  a  true  one  for  the  prodigal ! 

"  The  contagious  leprosy  of  Fcedora's  vanity  had  taken 
hold  of  me  at  last.  I  probed  my  soul,  and  found  it  cankered 
and  rotten.  I  bore  the  marks  of  the  devil's  claw  upon  my 
forehead.  It  was  impossible  to  me  thenceforward  to  do  with- 
out the  incessant  agitation  of  a  life  fraught  with  danger  at 
every  moment,  or  to  dispense  with  the  execrable  refinements 
of  luxury.  If  I  had  possessed  millions,  I  should  still  have 
gambled,  reveled,  and,  racketed  about.  I  wished  never  to  be 
alone  with  myself,  and  I  must  have  false  friends  and  courte- 
sans, wine  and  good  cheer  to  distract  me.  The  ties  that 
attach  a  man  to  family  life  had  been  permanently  broken  for 
me.  I  had  become  a  galley-slave  of  pleasure,  and  must  accom- 
plish my  destiny  of  suicide.  During  the  last  days  of  my  pros- 
perity, I  spent  every  night  in  the  most  incredible  excesses ; 
but  every  morning  death  cast  me  back  upon  life  again.  I 
would  have  taken  a  conflagration  with  as  little  concern  as  any 
man  with  a  life  annuity.  However,  I  at  last  found  myself 
alone  with  a  twenty-franc  piece;  I  bethought  me  then  of 
Rastignac's  luck 

"Eh,  eh! "  Raphael  exclaimed,  interrupting  himself, 

as  he  remembered  the  talisman  and  drew  it  from  his  pocket. 
Perhaps  he  was  wearied  by  the  long  day's  strain,  and  had  no 
more  strength  left  wherewith  to  pilot  his  head  through  the 
seas  of  wine  and  punch ;  or  perhaps,  exasperated  by  this 


A    WOMAN  WITHOUT  A   HEART.  173 

symbol  of  his  own  existence,  the  torrent  of  his  own  eloquence 
gradually  overwhelmed  him.  Raphael  became  excited  and 
elated  and  like  one  completely  deprived  of  reason. 

"The  devil  take  death!"  he  shouted,  brandishing  the 
skin  ;  "I  mean  to  live  !  I  am  rich,  I  have  every  virtue  ; 
nothing  will  withstand  me.  Who  would  not  be  generous, 
when  everything  is  in  his  power  ?  Aha  !  aha !  I  wished  for 
two  hundred  thousand  livres  a  year,  and  I  shall  have  them. 
Bow  down  before  me,  all  of  you,  wallowing  on  the  carpets 
like  swine  in  the  mire  !  You  all  belong  to  me — a  precious 
property  truly !  I  am  rich  !  I  could  buy  you  all,  even  the 
deputy  snoring  over  there.  Scum  of  society,  give  me  your 
benediction  !  I  am  the  Pope." 

Raphael's  vociferations  had  been  hitherto  drowned  by  a 
thorough-bass  of  snores,  but  now  they  became  suddenly 
audible.  Most  of  the  sleepers  started  up  with  a  cry,  saw  the 
cause  of  the  disturbance  on  his  feet,  tottering  uncertainly,  and 
cursed  him  in  concert  for  a  drunken  brawler. 

"Silence  !"  shouted  Raphael.  "Back  to  your  kennels, 
you  dogs!  Emile,  I  have  riches,  I  will  give  you  Havana 
cigars ! ' ' 

"I  am  listening,"  the  poet  replied.  "Death  or  Foedora ! 
On  with  you  !  That  silky  Foedora  deceived  you.  Women 
are  all  daughters  of  Eve.  There  is  nothing  dramatic  about 
that  rigmarole  of  yours." 

"Ah,  but  you  were  sleeping,  slyboots." 

"  No—'  Death  or  Foedora  !  '—I  have  it !  " 

"Wake  up!"  Raphael  shouted,  beating  Emile  with  the 
piece  of  shagreen  as  if  he  meant  to  draw  electric  fluid  out  of  it. 

"  Thunder!"  said  Emile,  springing  up  and  flinging  his 
arms  round  Raphael ;  "  my  friend,  remember  the  sort  of 
women  you  are  with." 

"  I  am  a  millionaire  !  " 

"  If  you  are  not  a  millionaire,  you  are  most  certainly 
drunk." 

12 


174  THE    WILD   ASS' 

"  Drunk  with  power.  I  can  kill  you  !  Silence  !  I  am 
Nero  !  I  am  Nebuchadnezzar  !  " 

"But,  Raphael,  we  are  in  queer  company,  and  you  ought 
to  keep  quiet  for  the  sake  of  your  own  dignity." 

"  My  life  has  been  silent  too  long.  I  mean  to  have  my 
revenge  now  on  the  world  at  large.  I  will  not  amuse  myself 
by  squandering  paltry  five-franc  pieces ;  I  will  reproduce  and 
sum  up  my  epoch  by  absorbing  human  lives,  human  minds,  and 
human  souls.  There  are  the  treasures  of  pestilence — that  is 
no  paltry  kind  of  wealth,  is  it  ?  I  will  wrestle  with  fevers — 
yellow,  blue,  or  green — with  whole  armies,  with  gibbets. 
I  can  possess  Fcedora.  Yet  no,  I  do  not  want  Fcedora  ;  she 
is  a  disease ;  I  am  dying  of  Fcedora.  I  want  to  forget 
Fcedora ! ' ' 

"  If  you  keep  on  calling  out  like  this,  I  shall  take  you  into 
the  dining-room." 

"Do  you  see  this  skin?  It  is  Solomon's  will.  Solomon 
belongs  to  me — a  little  varlet  of  a  king  !  Arabia  is  mine, 
Arabia  Petrsea  to  boot ;  and  the  universe,  and  you  too,  if  I 
choose.  If  I  choose — ah  !  be  careful.  I  can  buy  up  all  your 
journalist's  shop ;  you  shall  be  my  valet.  You  shall  be  my 
valet,  you  shall  manage  my  newspaper.  Valet  !  valet,  that  is 
to  say,  free  from  aches  and  pains,  because  he  has  no  brains." 

At  the  word,  Emile  carried  Raphael  off  into  the  dining- 
room. 

"All  right,"  he  remarked;  "yes,  my  friend,  I  am  yotr 
valet.  But  you  are  about  to  be  editor-in-chief  of  a  newspaper  ; 
so  be  quiet,  and  behave  properly,  for  my  sake.  Have  you  no 
regard  for  me  ?  " 

"  Regard  for  you  !  You  shall  have  Havana  cigars,  with 
this  bit  of  shagreen;  always  with  this  skin,  this  supreme  bit 
of  shagreen.  It  is  a  cure  for  corns,  an  efficacious  remedy. 
Do  you  suffer?  I  will  remove  them." 

"Never  have  I  known  you  so  senseless " 

"Senseless,  my  friend?     Not  at  all.     This  skin  contracts 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A    HEART.  17-") 

whenever  I  form  a  wish — 'tis  a  paradox.  There  is  a  Brahmin 
underneath  it !  The  Brahmin  must  be  a  droll  fellow,  for  our 
desires,  look  you,  are  bound  to  expand " 

"Yes,  yes " 

"I  tell  you " 

"  Yes,  yes,  very  true,  I  am  quite  of  your  opinion — our 
desires  expand " 

"The  skin,  I  tell  you." 

"Yes." 

"  You  don't  believe  me.  I  know  you,  my  friend  ;  you  are 
as  full  of  lies  as  a  new-made  king." 

"  How  can  you  expect  me  to  follow  your  drunken  maun- 
derings?" 

"  I  will  bet  you  I  can  prove  it.     Let  us  measure  it " 

"Goodness!  he  will  never  get  off  to  sleep,"  exclaimed 
Emile,  as  he  watched  Raphael  rummaging  busily  in  the 
dining-room. 

Thanks  to  the  peculiar  clearness  with  which  external  objects 
are  sometimes  projected  on  an  inebriated  brain,  in  sharp  con- 
trast to  its  own  obscure  imaginings,  Valentin  found  an  ink- 
stand and  a  table-napkin,  with  the  quickness  of  a  monkey, 
repeating  all  the  time — 

"  Let  us  measure  it !     Let  us  measure  it !  " 

"All  right,"  said  Emile  ;  "  let  us  measure  it." 

The  two  friends  spread  out  the  table-napkin  and  laid  the 
Wild  Ass'  Skin  upon  it.  As  Emile's  hand  appeared  to  be 
steadier  than  Raphael's,  he  drew  a  line  with  pen  and  ink 
round  the  talisman,  while  his  friend  said — 

"I  wished  for  an  income  of  two  hundred  thousand  livres, 
didn't  I?  Well,  when  that  comes,  you  will  observe  a  mighty 
diminution  of  my  shagreen." 

"Yes — now  go  to  sleep.  Shall  I  make  you  comfortable  on 
that  sofa?  Now  then,  are  you  all  right?  " 

"  Yes,  my  nursling  of  the  press.  You  shall  amuse  me  ;  you 
shall  drive  the  flies  away  from  me.  The  friend  of  adversity 


176  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

should  be  the  friend  of  prosperity.  So  I  will  give  you  some 
Havan — na — cig ' 

"  Come,  now,  sleep.     Sleep  off  your  gold,  you  millionaire  !" 

"You!  sleep  off  your  paragraphs!  Good-night!  Say 
good-night  to  Nebuchadnezzar! — love! — wine! — France!  — 
glory  and  tr — treas " 

Very  soon  the  snorings  of  the  two  friends  were  added  to 
the  music  with  which  the  rooms  resounded — an  ineffectual 
concert !  The  lights  went  out  one  by  one,  their  crystal 
sconces  cracking  in  the  final  flare.  Night  threw  dark  shadows 
over  this  prolonged  revelry,  in  which  Raphael's  narrative  had 
been  a  second  orgy  of  speech,  of  words  without  ideas,  of  ideas 
for  which  words  had  often  been  lacking. 

Towards  noon,  next  day,  the  fair  Aquilina  bestirred  her- 
self. She  yawned  wearily.  She  had  slept  with  her  head 
upon  a  painted  ^velvet  footstool,  and  her  cheeks  were  mottled 
over  by  contact  with  the  surface.  Her  movements  awoke 
Euphrasia,  who  suddenly  sprang  up  with  a  hoarse  cry ;  her 
pretty  face,  that  had  been  so  fresh  and  fair  in  the  evening, 
was  sallow  now  and  pallid  ;  she  looked  like  a  candidate  for 
the  hospital.  The  rest  awoke  also  by  degrees,  with  portentous 
groanings,  to  feel  themselves  over  in  every  stiffened  limb,  and 
to  experience  the  infinite  varieties  of  weariness  that  weighed 
upon  them. 

A  servant  came  in  to  throw  back  the  shutters  and  open  the 
windows.  There  they  all  stood,  brought  back  to  conscious- 
ness by  the  warm  rays  of  sunlight  that  shone  upon  the  sleepers' 
heads.  Their  movements  during  slumber  had  disordered  the 
elaborately  arranged  hair  and  toilettes  of  the  women.  They 
presented  a  ghastly  spectacle  in  the  bright  daylight.  Their 
hair  fell  ungracefully  about  them ;  their  eyes,  lately  so  bril- 
liant, were  heavy  and  dim;  the  expression  of  their  faces  was 
entirely  changed.  The  sickly  hues,  which  daylight  brings 
out  so  strongly,  were  frightful.  An  olive  tint  had  crept  over 
the  lymphatic  faces,  so  fair  and  soft  when  in  repose;  the 


A    WOMAN    WITHOUT  A   HEART.  177 

dainty  red  lips  were  grown  pale  and  dry,  and  bore  tokens  of 
the  degradation  of  excess.  Each  disowned  his  mistress  of  the 
night  before ;  the  women  looked  wan  and  discolored,  like 
flowers  trampled  under  foot  by  a  passing  procession. 

The  men  who  scorned  them  looked  even  more  horrible. 
Those  human  faces  would  have  made  you  shudder.  The 
hollow  eyes  with  the  dark  circles  round  them  seemed  to  see 
nothing ;  they  were  dull  with  wine  and  stupefied  with  heavy 
slumbers  that  had  been  exhausting  rather  than  refreshing. 
There  was  an  indescribable,  ferocious  and  stolid  bestiality 
about  the  haggard  faces,  where  bare  physical  appetite  appeared 
shorn  of  all  the  poetical  illusion  with  which  the  intellect  in- 
vests it.  Even  these  fearless  champions,  accustomed  to  meas- 
ure themselves  with  excess,  were  struck  with  horror  at  this 
awakening  of  vice,  stripped  of  its  disguises,  at  being  con- 
fronted thus  with  sin,  the  skeleton  in  rags,  lifeless  and  hollow, 
bereft  of  the  sophistries  of  the  intellect  and  the  enchantments 
of  luxury.  Artists  and  courtesans  scrutinized  in  silence  and 
with  haggard  glances  the  surrounding  disorder,  the  rooms 
where  everything  had  been  laid  waste  at  the  havoc  wrought 
by  heated  passions. 

Demoniac  laughter  broke  out  when  Taillefer,  catching  the 
smothered  murmurs  of  his  guests,  tried  to  greet  them  with  a 
grin.  His  darkly  flushed,  perspiring  countenance  loomed  upon 
this  pandemonium,  like  the  image  of  a  crime  that  knows  no 
remorse  (see  "  L'Auberge  rouge").  The  picture  was  com- 
plete. A  picture  of  foul  life  in  the  midst  of  luxury,  a  hideous 
mixture  of  the  pomp  and  squalor  of  humanity ;  an  awakening 
after  the  frenzy  of  debauch  has  crushed  and  squeezed  all  the 
fruits  of  life  in  her  strong  hands,  till  nothing  but  unsightly 
refuse  is  left  to  her,  and  lies  in  which  she  believes  no  longer. 
You  might  have  thought  of  death  gloating  over  a  family 
stricken  with  the  plague. 

The  sweet  scents  and  dazzling  lights,  the  mirth  and  the 
excitement  were  all  no  more;  disgust  with  its  nauseous  sensa- 


178  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

tions  and  searching  philosophy  was  there  instead.  The  sun 
shone  in  like  truth,  the  pure  outer  air  was  like  virtue  ;  in  con- 
trast with  the  heated  atmosphere,  heavy  with  the  fumes  of  the 
previous  night  of  revelry. 

Accustomed  as  they  were  to  their  life,  many  of  the  girls 
thought  of  other  days  and  other  wakings ;  pure  and  innocent 
days  when  they  looked  out  and  saw  the  roses  and  honeysuckle 
about  the  casement,  and  the  fresh  country-side  without  enrap- 
tured by  the  gkd  music  of  the  skylark ;  while  earth  lay 
in  mists,  lighted  by  the  dawn,  and  all  the  glittering  radiance 
of  dew.  Others  imagined  the  family  breakfast,  the  father 
and  children  round  the  table,  the  innocent  laughter,  the  un- 
speakable charm  that  pervaded  it  all,  the  simple  hearts  and 
their  meal  as  simple. 

An  artist  mused  upon  his  quiet  studio,  on  his  statue  in  its 
severe  beauty,  and  the  graceful  model  who  was  waiting  for 
him.  A  young  man  recollected  a  lawsuit  on  which  the  fortunes 
of  a  family  hung,  and  an  important  transaction  that  needed 
his  presence.  The  scholar  regretted  his  study  and  the  noble 
work  that  called  for  him.  Nearly  everybody  was  sorry  for 
himself.  Emile  appeared  just  then  as  smiling,  blooming,  and 
fresh  as  the  smartest  assistant  in  a  fashionable  shop. 

"  You  are  all  as  ugly  as  bailiffs.  You  won't  be  fit  for  any- 
thing to-day,  so  this  day  is  lost,  and  I  vote  for  breakfast." 

At  this  Taillefer  went  out  to  give  some  orders.  The  women 
went  languidly  up  to  the  mirrors  to  set  their  toilettes  in  order. 
Each  one  shook  herself.  The  wilder  sort  lectured  the  steadier 
ones.  The  courtesans  made  fun  of  those  who  looked  unable 
to  continue  the  boisterous  festivity ;  but  these  wan  forms 
revived  at  once,  stood  in  groups,  and  talked  and  smiled.  Some 
servants  quickly  and  adroitly  set  the  furniture  and  everything 
else  in  its  place,  and  a  magnificent  breakfast  was  gotten  ready. 

The  guests  hurried  to  the  dining-room.  Everything  there 
bore  indelible  marks  of  yesterday's  excess,  it  is  true,  but  there 
were  at  any  rate  some  traces  of  ordinary,  rational  existence, 


A    WOMAN    WITHOUT  A   HEART.  179 

such  traces  as  may  be  found  in  a  sick  man's  dying  struggles. 
And  so  the  revelry  was  laid  away  and  buried,  like  carnival  of  a 
Shrove  Tuesday  by  masks,  wearied  out  with  dancing,  drunk 
with  drunkenness,  and  quite  ready  to  be  persuaded  of  the 
pleasures  of  lassitude,  lest  they  be  forced  to  admit  their  own 
exhaustion. 

As  soon  as  these  bold  spirits  surrounded  the  capitalist's 
breakfast  table,  Cardot  appeared.  He  had  left  the  rest  to 
make  a  night  of  it  after  the  dinner,  and  finished  the  evening 
after  his  own  fashion  in  the  retirement  of  domestic  life.  Just 
now  a  sweet  smile  wandered  over  his  features.  He  seemed  to 
have  a  presentiment  that  there  would  be  some  inheritance  to 
sample  and  divide,  involving  inventories  and  engrossing;  an 
inheritance  rich  in  fees  and  deeds  to  draw  up,  and  something 
as  juicy  as  the  trembling  fillet  of  beef  in  which  their  host  had 
just  plunged  his  knife. 

"  Oh,  ho !  we  are  to  have  breakfast  in  the  presence  of  a 
notary,"  cried  Cursy. 

"You  have  come  here  just  at  the  right  time,"  said  the 
banker,  indicating  the  breakfast;  "you  can  jot  down  the 
numbers,  and  initial  off  all  the  dishes." 

"There  is  no  will  to  make  here,  but  contracts  of  marriage 
there  may  be,  perhaps,"  said  the  scholar,  who  had  made  a 
satisfactory  arrangement  on  this  occasion  for  the  first  time  in 
twelve  months. 

"Oh!    Oh!" 

"Ah!     Ah!" 

"One  moment,"  cried  Cardot,  fairly  deafened  by  a  chorus 
of  wretched  jokes.  "I  came  here  on  serious  business.  I  am 
bringing  six  millions  for  one  of  you.  (Dead  silence.)  "  Mon- 
sieur," he  went  on,  turning  to  Raphael,  who  at  that  moment 
was  unceremoniously  wiping  his  eyes  on  a  corner  of  the  table- 
napkin,  "  was  not  your  mother  a  Mile.  O'Flaharty?" 

"Yes,"  said  Raphael,  mechanically  enough;  "Barbara 
Marie." 


180  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

"Have  you  your  certificate  of  birth  about  you,"  Cardot 
went  on,  "and  Mme.  de  Valentin's  as  well?" 

"I  believe  so." 

"Very  well,  then,  monsieur;  you  are  the  sole  heir  of 
Major  O'Flaharty,  who  died  in  August,  1828,  at  Calcutta." 

"  An  incalculable  fortune,"  said  the  critic. 

"The  Major  having  bequeathed  several  amounts  to  public 
institutions  in  his  will,  the  French  government  sent  in  a  claim 
for  the  remainder  to  the  East  India  Company,"  the  notary 
continued.  "  The  estate  is  clear  and  ready  to  be  transferred 
at  this  moment.  I  had  been  looking  in  vain  for  the  heirs  and 
assigns  of  Mile.  Barbara  Marie  O'Flaharty  for  a  fortnight 
past,  when  yesterday  at  dinner " 

Just  then  Raphael  suddenly  staggered  to  his  feet;  he  looked 
like  a  man  who  has  just  received  a  blow.  Acclamation  took 
the  form  of  silence,  for  stifled  envy  had  been  the  first  feeling 
in  every  breast,  and  all  eyes  devoured  him  like  flames.  Then 
a  murmur  rose,  and  grew  like  the  voice  of  a  discontented 
audience,  or  the  first  mutterings  of  a  riot,  as  everybody  made 
some  comment  on  this  news  of  great  wealth  brought  by  the 
notary. 

This  abrupt  subservience  of  fate  brought  Raphael  thor- 
oughly to  his  senses.  He  immediately  spread  out  the  table- 
napkin  with  which  he  had  lately  taken  the  measure  of  the 
piece  of  shagreen.  He  heeded  nothing  as  he  laid  the  talisman 
upon  it,  and  shuddered  involuntarily  at  the  sight  of  a  slight 
difference  between  the  present  size  of  the  skin  and  the  outline 
traced  upon  the  linen. 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter  with  him?"  Taillefer  cried. 
"  He  comes  by  his  fortune  very  cheaply." 

"Support  him,"  said  Bixiou  to  Emile.  "The  joy  will 
kill  him." 

A  ghastly  white  hue  overspread  every  line  of  the  wan 
features  of  the  heir-at-law.  His  face  was  drawn,  every  out- 
line grew  haggard ;  the  hollows  in  his  livid  countenance  grew 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  181' 

deeper,  and  his  eyes  were  fixed  and  staring.     He  was  facing 
death. 

The  opulent  banker,  surrounded  by  faded  women,  and 
faces  with  satiety  written  on  them,  the  enjoyment  that  had 
reached  the  pitch  of  agony,  was  a  living  illustration  of  his 
own  life. 

Raphael  looked  thrice  at  the  talisman,  which  lay  passively 
within  the  merciless  outlines  on  the  table-napkin  ;  he  tried 
not  to  believe  it,  but  his  incredulity  vanished  utterly  before 
the  light  of  an  inner  presentiment.  The  whole  world  was 
his ;  he  could  have  all  things,  but  the  will  to  possess  them  was 
utterly  extinct.  Like  a  traveler  in  the  midst  of  the  desert, 
with  but  a  little  water  left  to  quench  his  thirst,  he  must 
measure  his  life  by  the  draughts  he  took  of  it.  He  saw  what 
every  desire  of  his  must  cost  him  in  the  days  of  his  life.  He 
believed  in  the  powers  of  the  Wild  Ass'  Skin  at  last ;  he 
listened  to  every  breath  he  drew;  he  felt  ill  already;  he 
asked  himself: 

"Am  I  not  consumptive?  Did  not  my  mother  die  of  a 
lung  complaint?  " 

"  Aha,  Raphael  !  what  fun  you  will  have  !  What  will  you 
give  me?"  asked  Aquilina. 

"  Here's  to  the  death  of  his  uncle,  Major  O'Flaharty  ! 
There's  a  man  for  you  !  " 

"  He  will  be  a  peer  of  France." 

"Pooh  !  what  is  a  peer  of  France  since  July?  "  said  the 
amateur  critic. 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  a  box  at  the  Bouffons  ?  " 

"  You  are  going  to  treat  us  all,  I  hope  ?  "  put  in  Bixiou. 

"A  man  of  his  sort  will  be  sure  to  do  things  in  style," 
said  Emile. 

The  hurrah  set  up  by  the  jovial  assembly  rang  in  Valentin's 
ears,  but  he  could  not  grasp  the  sense  of  a  single  word. 
Vague  thoughts  crossed  him  of  the  Breton  peasant's  life  of 
mechanical  labor,  without  a  wish  of  any  kind  ;  he  pictured 


182  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

him  burdened  with  a  family,  tilling  the  soil,  living  on  buck- 
wheat meal,  drinking  cider  out  of  a  pitcher,  believing  in  the 
Virgin  and  the  King,  taking  the  sacrament  at  Easter,  dancing 
of  a  Sunday  on  the  green  sward,  and  understanding  never  a 
word  of  the  rector's  sermon.  The  actual  scene  that  lay  before 
him,  the  gilded  furniture,  the  courtesans,  the  feast  itself,  and 
the  surrounding  splendors,  seemed  to  catch  him  by  the  throat 
and  made  him  cough. 

"  Do  you  wish  for  some  asparagus?  "  the  banker  cried. 

" 1 'wish  for  nothing /"  thundered  Raphael. 

"Bravo!"  Taillefer  exclaimed;  "you  understand  your 
position  ;  a  fortune  confers  the  privilege  of  being  impertinent. 
You  are  one  of  us.  Gentlemen,  let  us  drink  to  the  might  of 
gold  !  M.  Valentin  here,  six  times  a  millionaire,  has  become  a 
power.  He  is  a  king,  like  all  the  rich  ;  everything  is  at  his  dis- 
posal, everything  lies  under  his  feet.  From  this  time  forth  the 
axiom  that '  all  Frenchmen  are  alike  in  the  eyes  of  the  law,'  is 
for  him  a  fib  at  the  head  of  the  Constitutional  Charter.  He  is 
not  going  to  obey  the  law — the  law  is  going  to  obey  him. 
There  are  neither  scaffolds  nor  executioners  for  millionaires." 

"  Yes,  there  are,"  said  Raphael ;  "  they  are  their  own  exe- 
cutioners." 

"  Here  is  another  victim  of  prejudices,"  cried  the  banker. 

"Let  us  drink !"  Raphael  said,  putting  the  talisman  into 
his  pocket. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  said  Emile,  checking  his  move- 
ment. "Gentlemen,"  he  added,  addressing  the  company, 
who  were  rather  taken  aback  by  Raphael's  behavior,  "yon 
must  know  that  our  friend  Valentin  here — what  am  I  saying? 
— I  mean  my  Lord  Marquis  de  Valentin — is  in  possession  of 
a  secret  for  obtaining  wealth.  His  wishes  are  fulfilled  as  soon 
as  he  knows  them.  He  will  make  us  all  rich  together,  or  he 
is  a  flunkey,  and  devoid  of  all  decent  feeling." 

"  Oh,  Raphael  dear,  I  should  like  a  set  of  pearl  ornaments  !" 
Euphrasia  exclaimed. 


A    WOMAN   WITHOUT  A   HEART.  183 

"If  he  has  any  gratitude  in  him,  he  will  give  me  a  couple 
of  carriages  with  fast  steppers,"  said  Aquilina. 

"  Wish  for  a  hundred  thousand  a  year  for  me  !  " 

"  India  shawls !" 

"Pay  my  debts!" 

"  Send  an  apoplexy  to  my  uncle,  the  old  stick  !  " 

"  Ten  thousand  a  year  in  the  funds,  and  I'll  cry  quits  with 
you,  Raphael ! " 

"  Deeds  of  gift  and  no  mistake,"  was  the  notary's  com- 
ment. 

"  He  ought,  at  least,  to  rid  me  of  the  gout !  " 

"  Lower  the  funds  !  "  shouted  the  banker. 

These  phrases  flew  about  like  the  last  discharge  of  rockets 
at  the  end  of  a  display  of  fireworks ;  and  were  uttered,  per- 
haps more  in  earnest  than  in  jest. 

"  My  good  friend,"  Emile  said  solemnly,  "I  shall  be  quite 
satibfied  with  an  income  of  two  hundred  thousand  livres. 
Please  to  set  about  it  at  once." 

"  Do  you  not  know  the  cost,  Emile?"  asked  Raphael. 

"  A  nice  excuse  !  "  the  poet  cried  ;  "  ought  we  not  to  sacri- 
fice ourselves  for  our  friends?" 

"I  have  almost  a  mind  to  wish  that  you  were  all  dead," 
Valentin  made  answer,  with  a  dark,  inscrutable  look  at  his 
boon  companions. 

"  Dying  people  are  frightfully  cruel,"  said  Emile,  laughing. 
"  You  are  rich  now,"  he  went  on  gravely  ;  "  very  well,  I  will 
give  you  two  months  at  most  before  you  grow  vilely  selfish. 
You  are  so  dense  already  that  you  cannot  understand  a  joke. 
You  have  only  to  go  a  little  further  to  believe  in  your  Wild 
Ass'  Skin. 

Raphael  kept  silent,  fearing  the  banter  of  the  company  ; 
but  he  drank  immoderately,  trying  to  drown  in  intoxication 
the  recollection  of  his  fatal  power. 


Ill 
THE  AGONY. 

IN  the  early  days  of  December  an  old  man  of  some  seventy 
years  of  age  pursued  his  way  along  the  Rue  de  Varenne, 
in  spite  of  the  falling  rain.  He  peered  up  at  the  door  of 
each  house,  trying  to  discover  the  address  of  the  Marquis 
Raphael  de  Valentin,  in  a  simple,  childlike  fashion,  and  with 
the  abstracted  look  peculiar  to  philosophers.  His  face  plainly 
showed  traces  of  a  struggle  between  a  heavy  mortification  and 
an  authoritative  nature ;  his  long  gray  hair  hung  in  disorder 
about  a  face  like  a  piece  of  parchment,  shriveling  in  the  fire. 
If  a  painter  had  come  upon  this  curious  character,  he  would, 
no  doubt,  have  transferred  him  .to  his  sketch-book  on  his 
return,  a  thin,  bony  figure,  clad  in  black,  and  have  inscibed 
beneath  it  :  "Classical  poet  in  search  of  a  rhyme."  When 
he  had  identified  the  number  that  had  been  given  to  him, 
this  re-incarnation  of  Rollin  knocked  meekly  at  the  door  of  a 
splendid  mansion. 

"  Is  Monsieur  Raphael  in?"  the  worthy  man  inquired  of 
the  Swiss  in  livery. 

"My  Lord  the  Marquis  sees  nobody,"  said  the  servant, 
swallowing  a  huge  morsel  that  he  had  just  dipped  in  a  large 
bowl  of  coffee. 

"  There  is  his  carriage,"  said  the  elderly  stranger,  pointing 
to  a  fine  equipage  that  stood  under  the  wooden  canopy  that 
sheltered  the  steps  before  the  house,  in  place  of  a  striped  linen 
awning.  "  He  is  going  out ;  I  will  wait  for  him." 

"Then  you  might  wait  here  till  to-morrow  morning,  old 
boy,"  said  the  Swiss.  "A  carriage  is  always  waiting  for 
monsieur.  Please  go  away.  If  I  were  to  let  any  stranger 

(184) 


THE  AGONY.  185 

come  into  the  house  without  orders,  I  should  lose  an  income 
of  six  hundred  francs." 

A  tall  old  man,  in  a  costume  not  unlike  that  of  a  subordi- 
nate in  the  civil  service,  came  out  of  the  vestibule  and  hurried 
part  of  the  way  down  the  steps,  while  he  made  a  survey  of  the 
astonished  elderly  applicant  for  admission. 

"  What  is  more,  here  is  M.  Jonathan,"  the  Swiss  remarked  ; 
"  speak  to  him." 

Fellow-feeling  of  some  kind,  or  curiosity,  brought  the  two 
old  men  together  in  a  central  space  in  the  great  entrance 
court.  A  few  blades  of  grass  were  growing  in  the  crevices  of 
the  pavement ;  a  terrible  silence  reigned  in  that  great  house. 
The  sight  of  Jonathan's  face  would  have  made  you  long  to 
understand  the  mystery  that  brooded  over  it,  and  that  was 
announced  by  the  smallest  trifles  about  the  melancholy  place. 

When  Raphel  inherited  his  uncle's  vast  estate,  his  first  care 
had  been  to  seek  out  the  old  and  devoted  servitor  of  whose 
affection  he  knew  that  he  was  secure.  Jonathan  had  wept 
tears  of  joy  at  the  sight  of  his  young  master,  of  whom  he 
thought  he  had  taken  a  final  farewell ;  and  when  the  Marquis 
exalted  him  to  the  high  office  of  steward,  his  happiness  could 
not  be  surpassed.  So  old  Jonathan  became  an  intermediary 
power  between  Raphael  and  the  world  at  large.  He  was  the 
absolute  disposer  of  his  master's  fortune,  the  blind  instrument 
of  an  unknown  will,  and  a  sixth  sense,  as  it  were,  by  which 
the  emotions  of  life  were  communicated  to  Raphael. 

."I  should  like  to  speak  with  M.  Raphael,  sir,"  said  the 
elderly  person  to  Jonathan,  as  he  climbed  up  the  steps  some 
way,  into  a  shelter  from  the  rain. 

"To  speak  with  my  lord  the  Marquis  ?  "  the  steward  cried. 
"  He  scarcely  speaks  even  to  me,  his  foster-father  !" 

"But  I  am  likewise  his  foster-father,"  said  the  old  man. 
"  If  your  wife  was  his  foster-mother,  I  fed  him  myself  with 
the  milk  of  the  Muses.  He  is  my  nursling,  my  child,  carus 
alumnus  !  I  formed  his  mind,  cultivated  his  understanding, 


18G  7'HE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

developed  his  genius,  and,  I  venture  to  say  it,  to  my  own 
honor  and  glory.  Is  he  not  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men 
of  our  epoch?  He  was  one  of  my  pupils  in  two  lower  forms, 
and  in  rhetoric.  I  am  his  professor." 

"  Ah,  sir,  then  you  are  M.  Porriquet  ?  " 

"  Exactly,  sir,  but — 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  "  Jonathan  called  to  two  underlings,  whose 
voices  broke  the  monastic  silence  that  shrouded  the  house. 

''But  is  the  Marquis  ill,  sir?"  the  professor  continued. 

"My  dear  sir,"  Jonathan  replied,  "heaven  only  knows 
what  is  the  matter  with  my  master.  You  see,  there  are  not  a 
couple  of  houses  like  ours  anywhere  in  Paris.  Do  you  under- 
stand ?  Not  two  houses.  Faith,  that  there  are  not.  My 
lord  the  Marquis  had  this  hotel  purchased  for  him  ;  it  form- 
erly belonged  to  a  duke  and  a  peer  of  France ;  then  he  spent 
three  hundred  thousand  francs  over  furnishing  it.  That's  a 
good  deal,  you  know,  three  hundred  thousand  francs !  But 
every  room  in  the  house  is  a  perfect  wonder.  '  Good,'  said 
I  to  myself  when  I  saw  this  magnificence  ;  '  it  is  just  like  it 
used  to  be  in  the  time  of  my  lord,  his  late  grandfather;  and 
the  young  Marquis  is  going  to  entertain  all  Paris  and  the 
Court ! '  Nothing  of  the  kind  !  My  lord  refused  to  see  any 
one  whatever.  'Tis  a  funny  life  that  he  leads,  M.  Porriquet, 
you  understand.  An  inconciliable  life.  He  rises  everyday  at 
the  same  time.  I  am  the  only  person,  you  see,  that  may 
enter  his  room.  I  open  the  shutters  at  seven  o'clock,  summer 
or  winter.  It  is  all  arranged  very  oddly.  As  I  come  in  I 
say  to  him — 

"  'You  must  get  up  and  dress,  my  lord  Marquis.' 

"  Then  he  rises  and  dresses  hinself.  I  have  to  give  him 
his  dressing-gown,  and  it  is  always  after  the  same  pattern, 
and  of  the  same  material.  I  am  obliged  to  replace  it  when  it 
can  be  used  no  longer,  simply  to  save  him  the  trouble  of  ask- 
ing for  a  new  one.  A  queer  fancy  !  As  a  matter  of  fact,  he 
has  a  thousand  francs  to  spend  every  day,  and  he  does  as  he 


THE   AGONY.  187 

pleases,  the  dear  child.  And  besides,  I  am  so  fond  of  him 
that  if  he  gave  me  a  box  on  the  ear  on  one  side,  I  should  hold 
out  the  other  to  him  !  The  most  difficult  things  he  will  tell 
me  to  do,  and  yet  I  do  them,  you  know  !  He  gives  me  such  a  lot 
of  trifles  to  attend  to,  that  I  am  well  set  to  work  !  He  reads 
the  newspapers,  doesn't  he?  Well,  my  instructions  are  to 
put  them  always  in  the  same  place,  on  the  same  table.  I 
always  go  at  the  same  hour  and  shave  him  myself;  and  don't 
I  tremble  !  The  cook  would  forfeit  the  annuity  of  a  thousand 
crowns  that  he  is  to  come  into  after  my  lord's  death,  if  break- 
fast is  not  served  inconciliably  at  ten  o'clock  precisely.  The 
menus  are  drawn  up  for  the  whole  year  round,  day  after  day. 
My  lord  the  Marquis  has  not  a  thing  to  wish  for.  He  has 
strawberries  whenever  there  are  any,  and  he  has  the  earliest 
mackerel  to  be  had  in  Paris.  The  programme  is  printed 
every  morning.  He  knows  his  dinner  by  rote.  In  the  next 
place,  he  dresses  himself  at  the  same  hour,  in  the  same  clothes, 
the  same  linen,  that  I  always  put  on  the  same  chair,  you 
understand  ?  I  have  to  see  that  he  always  has  the  same  cloth  ; 
and  if  it  should  happen  that  his  coat  came  to  grief  (a  mere 
supposition),  I  should  have  to  replace  it  by  another  without 
saying  a  word  about  it  to  him.  If  it  is  fine,  I  go  in  and  say 
to  my  master — 

"  '  You  ought  to  go  out,  sir.' 

"  He  says  Yes,  or  No.  If  he  has  a  notion  that  he  will  go 
out,  he  doesn't  wait  for  his  horses ;  they  are  always  ready 
harnessed;  the  coachman  stops  there  inconciliably,  whip  in 
hand,  just  as  you  see  him  out  there.  In  the  evening,  after 
dinner,  my  master  goes  one  day  to  the  opera,  the  other  to  the 

Ital no,  he  hasn't  yet  gone  to  the  Italiens,  though,  for  I 

could  not  find  a  box  for  him  until  yesterday.  Then  he  comes 
in  at  eleven  o'clock  precisely,  to  go  to  bed.  At  any  time  in 
the  day  when  he  has  nothing  to  do,  he  reads — he  is  always 
reading,  you  see — it  is  a  notion  he  has.  My  instructions  are 
to  read  the  Journal  dela  Librairie  before  he  sees  it,  and  to 


188  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

buy  new  books,  so  that  he  finds  them  on  his  chimney-piece  on 
the  very  day  that  they  are  published.  I  have  orders  to  go 
into  his  room  every  hour  or  so,  to  look  after  the  fire  and 
everything  else,  and  to  see  that  he  wants  nothing.  He  gave 
me  a  little  book,  sir,  to  learn  off  by  heart,  with  all  my  duties 
written  in  it — a  regular  catechism  !  In  summer  I  have  to 
keep  a  cool  and  even  temperature  with  blocks  of  ice,  and  at 
all  seasons  to  put  fresh  flowers  all  about.  He  is  rich  !  He 
has  a  thousand  francs  to  spend  every  day  ;  he  can  indulge  his 
fancies!  And  he  hadn't  even  necessaries  for  so  long,  poor 
child  !  He  doesn't  annoy  anybody;  he  is  as  good  as  gold  ; 
he  never  opens  his  mouth,  for  instance;  the  house  and  garden 
are  absolutely  silent.  In  short,  my  master  has  not  a  single 
wish  left ;  everything  comes  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye,  if  he 
raises  his  hand,  and  instanter.  Quite  right,  too.  If  servants 
are  not  looked  after,  everything  falls  into  confusion.  You 
would  never  believe  the  lengths  he  goes  about  things.  His 
rooms  are  all — what  do  you  call  it  ! — er — er — en  suite.  Very 
well ;  just  suppose,  now,  that  he  opens  his  room  door  or  the 
door  of  his  study ;  presto  !  all  the  other  doors  fly  open  them- 
selves by  a  patent  contrivance ;  and  then  he  can  go  from  one 
end  of  the  house  to  the  other  and  not  find  a  single  door  shut; 
which  is  all  very  nice  and  pleasant  and  convenient  for  us  great 
folk !  But,  on  my  word,  it  costs  us  a  lot  of  money  !  And, 
after  all,  M.  Porriquet,  he  said  to  me  at  last — 

"  '  Jonathan,  you  will  look  after  me  as  if  I  were  a  baby  in 
long  clothes.'  Yes,  sir,  'long  clothes!  '  those  were  his  very 
words.  'You  will  think  of  all  my  requirements  for  me.'  I 
am  the  master,  so  to  speak,  and  he  is  the  servant,  you  under- 
stand? The  reason  of  it?  Ah,  my  word,  that  is  just  what 
nobody  on  earth  knows  but  he  himself  and  God  Almighty. 
It  is  quite  inconciliable  !  " 

"  He  is  writing  a  poem  !  "  exclaimed  the  old  professor. 

"You  think  he  is  writing  a  poem,  sir  ?  It  is  a  very  absorbing 
affair,  then  !  But,  you  know,  I  don't  think  he  is.  He  often 


THE  AGONY.  189 

tells  me  that  he  wants  to  live  like  a  vergetation ;  he  wants  to 
vergetate.  Only  yesterday  he  was  looking  at  a  tulip  while  he 
was  dressing,  and  he  said  to  me — 

"  'There  is  my  own  life — I  am  vergetating,  my  poor  Jona- 
than.' Now,  some  of  them  insist  that  that  is  monomania. 
It  is  inconciliable  !  ' ' 

"All  this  makes  it  very  clear  to  me,  Jonathan,"  the  pro- 
fessor answered,  with  a  magisterial  solemnity  that  greatly  im- 
pressed the  old  servant,  "that  your  master  is  absorbed  in  a 
great  work.  He  is  deep  in  vast  meditations,  and  has  no  wish 
to  be  distracted  by  the  petty  preoccupations  of  ordinary  life. 
A  man  of  genius  forgets  everything  among  his  intellectual 
labors.  One  day  the  famous  Newton " 

"Newton? — oh,  ah!  I  don't  know  the  name,"  said 
Jonathan. 

"  Newton,  a  great  geometrician,"  Porriquet  went  on,"  once 
sat  for  twenty-four  hours  leaning  his  elbow  on  the  table ;  when 
he  emerged  from  his  musings,  he  was  a  day  out  in  his  reckon- 
ing, just  as  if  he  had  been  sleeping.  I  will  go  to  see  him, 
dear  lad ;  I  may  perhaps  be  of  some  use  to  him." 

"  Not  for  a  moment !  "  Jonathan  cried.  "  Not  though  you 
were  King  of  France — I  mean  the  real  one.  You  could  not 
go  in  unless  you  forced  the  doors  open  and  walked  over  my 
body.  But  I  will  go  and  tell  him  you  are  here,  M.  Porriquet, 
and  I  will  put  it  to  him  like  this,  '  Ought  he  to  come  up  ?  ' 
And  he  will  say  Yes  or  No.  I  never  say,  '  Do  you  wish  ? '  or 
'  Will  you  ? '  or  '  Do  you  want  ? '  Those  words  are  scratched 
out  of  the  dictionary.  He  let  out  at  me  once  with  a  '  Do  you 
want  to  kill  me? '  he  was  so  very  angry." 

Jonathan  left  the  old  schoolmaster  in  the  vestibule,  signing 
to  him  to  come  no  further,  and  soon  returned  with  a  favor- 
able answer.  He  led  the  old  gentleman  through  one  magnifi- 
cent room  after  another,  where  every  door  stood  open.  At 
last  Porriquet  beheld  his  pupil  at  some  distance  seated  beside 

the  fire. 

13 


190  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

Raphael  was  reading  the  paper.  He  sat  in  an  arm-chair, 
wrapped  in  a  dressing-gown  with  some  large  pattern  on  it. 
The  intense  melancholy  that  preyed  upon  him  could  be  dis- 
cerned in  his  languid  posture  and  feeble  frame  ;  it  was  depicted 
on  his  brow  and  white  face  ;  he  looked  like  some  plant 
bleached  by  darkness.  There  was  a  kind  of  effeminate  grace 
about  him  ;  the  fancies  peculiar  to  wealthy  invalids  were  also 
noticeable.  His  hands  were  soft  and  white,  like  a  pretty 
woman's ;  he  wore  his  fair  hair,  now  grown  scanty,  curled 
about  his  temples  with  a  refinement  of  vanity. 

The  Greek  cap  that  he  wore  was  pulled  to  one  side  by  the 
weight  of  its  tassel ;  too  heavy  for  the  light  material  of  which 
it  was  made.  He  had  let  the  paper-knife  fall  at  his  feet,  a 
malachite  blade  with  gold  mounting,  which  he  had  used  to 
cut  the  leaves  of  a  book.  The  amber  mouth-piece  of  a  mag- 
nificent India  hookah  lay  on  his  knee ;  the  enameled  coils 
lay  like  a  serpent  in  the  room,  but  he  had  forgotten  to  draw 
out  its  fresh  perfume.  And  yet  there  was  a  complete  contra- 
diction between  the  general  feebleness  of  his  young  frame  and 
the  blue  eyes,  where  all  his  vitality  seemed  to  dwell ;  an 
extraordinary  intelligence  seemed  to  look  out  from  them  and 
to  grasp  everything  at  once. 

That  expression  was  painful  to  see.  Some  would  have  read 
despair  in  it,  and  others  some  inner  conflict  terrible  as  remorse. 
It  was  the  inscrutable  glance  of  helplessness  that  must  perforce 
consign  its  desires  to  the  depth  of  its  own  heart ;  or  of  a 
miser  enjoying  in  imagination  all  the  pleasures  that  his  money 
could  procure  for  him,  while  he  declines  to  lessen  his  hoard  ; 
the  look  of  a  bound  Prometheus,  of  the  fallen  Napoleon  of 
1815,  when  he  learned  at  the  Elysee  the  strategical  blunder 
that  his  enemies  had  made,  and  asked  for  twenty-four  hours 
of  command  in  vain ;  or  rather  it  was  the  same  look  that 
Raphael  had  turned  upon  the  Seine,  or  upon  his  last  piece  of 
gold  at  the  gaming  table  only  a  few  months  ago. 

He  was  submitting  his  intelligence  and  his  will  to  the  homely 


THE  AGONY.  191 

common-sense  of  an  old  peasant  whom  fifty  years  of  domestic 
service  had  scarcely  civilized.  He  had  given  up  all  the  rights 
of  life  in  order  to  live  ;  he  had  despoiled  his  soul  of  all  the 
romance  that  lies  in  a  wish  ;  and  almost  rejoiced  at  thus  be- 
coming a  sort  of  automaton.  The  better  to  struggle  with  the 
cruel  power  that  he  had  challenged,  he  had  followed  Origen's 
example,  and  had  maimed  and  chastened  his  imagination. 

The  day  after  he  had  seen  the  dimunition  of  the  Wild 
Ass'  Skin,  at  his  sudden  accession  of  wealth,  he  happened  to 
be  at  his  notary's  house.  A  well-known  physician  had  told 
them  quite  seriously,  at  dessert,  how  a  Swiss  attacked  by  con- 
sumption had  cured  himself.  The  man  had  never  spoken  a 
word  for  ten  years,  and  had  compelled  himself  to  draw  six 
breaths  only,  every  minute,  in  the  close  atmosphere  of  a  cow- 
house, adhering  all  the  time  to  a  regimen  of  exceedingly  light 
diet.  "  I  will  be  like  that  man,"  thought  Raphael  to  himself. 
He  wanted  life  at  any  price,  and  so  he  led  the  life  of  a 
machine  in  the  midst  of  all  the  luxury  around  him. 

The  old  professor  confronted  this  youthful  corpse  and  shud- 
dered ;  there  seemed  something  unnatural  about  the  meagre, 
enfeebled  frame.  In  the  Marquis,  with  his  eager  eyes  and 
careworn  forehead,  he  could  hardly  recognize  the  fresh-cheeked 
and  rosy  pupil  with  the  active  limbs,  whom  he  remembered. 
If  the  worthy  classicist,  sage  critic,  and  general  preserver  of 
the  traditions  of  correct  taste  had  read  Byron,  he  would  have 
thought  that  he  had  come  on  a  Manfred  when  he  looked  to  find 
Childe  Harold. 

"Good-day,  Pere  Porriquet, "  said  Raphael,  pressing  the 
old  schoolmaster's  frozen  fingers  in  his  own  hot  damp  ones ; 
"  how  are  you?  " 

"I  am  very  well,"  replied  the  other,  alarmed  by  the  touch 
of  that  feverish  hand.  "  But  how  about  you  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  hoping  to  keep  myself  in  health." 

"You  are  engaged  on  some  great  work,  no  doubt?" 

"No,"  Raphael  answered.    "Exegimonumentum,*P&e'PoT- 


192  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

riquet ;  I  have  contributed  an  important  page  to  science,  and 
have  now  bidden  her  farewell  forever.  I  scarcely  know  where 
my  manuscript  is." 

"  The  style  is  no  doubt  correct  ?  ' '  queried  the  schoolmaster. 
"  You,  I  hope,  would  never  have  adopted  the  barbarous  lan- 
guage of  the  new  school,  which  fancies  it  has  worked  such 
wonders  by  discovering  Ronsard  !  " 

"  My  work  treats  of  physiology  pure  and  simple." 

"Oh,  then,  there  is  no  more  to  be  said,"  the  schoolmaster 
answered.  "Grammar  must  yield  to  the  exigencies  of  dis- 
covery. Nevertheless,  young  man,  a  lucid  and  harmonious 
style — the  diction  of  Massillon,  of  M.  de  Buffon,  of  the  great 
Racine — a  classical  style,  in  short,  can  never  spoil  anything — 
But,  my  friend,"  the  schoolmaster  interrupted  himself,  "I 
was  forgetting  the  object  of  my  visit,  which  concerns  my  own 
interests." 

Too  late  Raphael  recalled  to  mind  the  verbose  eloquence 
and  elegant  circumlocutions  which  in  a  long  professorial  career 
had  grown  habitual  to  his  old  tutor,  and  almost  regretted  that 
he  had  admitted  him ;  but  just  as  he  was  about  to  wish  to  see 
him  safely  outside,  he  promptly  suppressed  his  secret  desire 
with  a  stealthy  glance  at  the  Wild  Ass'  Skin.  It  hung  there 
before  him,  fastened  down  upon  some  white  material,  sur- 
rounded by  a  red  line  accurately  traced  about  its  prophetic 
outlines.  Since  that  fatal  carouse,  Raphael  had  stifled  every 
least  whim,  and  had  lived  so  as  not  to  cause  the  slightest 
movement  in  the  terrible  talisman.  The  Wild  Ass'  Skin  was 
like  a  tiger  with  which  he  must  live  without  exciting  its  fero- 
city. He  bore  patiently,  therefore,  with  the  old  schoolmaster's 
prolixity. 

Porriquet  spent  an  hour  in  telling  him  about  the  persecu- 
tions directed  against  him  ever  since  the  Revolution  of  July. 
The  worthy  man,  having  a  liking  for  strong  governments,  had 
expressed  the  patriotic  wish  that  grocers  should  be  left  to 
their  counters,  statesmen  to  the  management  of  public  busi- 


THE  AGONY.  193 

ness,  advocates  to  the  Palais  de  Justice,  and  the  peers  of 
France  to  the  Luxembourg;  but  one  of  the  popularity-seeking 
ministers  of  the  Citizen  King  had  ousted  him  from  his  chair, 
on  an  accusation  of  Charlism,  and  the  old  man  now  found 
himself  without  pension  or  post,  and  with  no  bread  to  eat. 
As  he  played  the  part  of  guardian  angel  to  a  poor  nephew, 
for  whose  schooling  at  Saint  Sulpice  he  was  paying,  he  came 
less  on  his  own  account  than  for  his  adopted  child's  sake,  to 
entreat  his  former  pupil's  interest  with  the  new  minister.  He 
did  not  ask  to  be  reinstated,  but  only  for  a  position  at  the 
head  of  some  provincial  school. 

Raphael  had  fallen  a  victim  to  unconquerable  drowsiness 
by  the  time  that  the  worthy  man's  monotonous  voice  ceased 
to  sound  in  his  ears.  Civility  had  compelled  him  to  look  at 
the  pale  and  unmoving  eyes  of  the  deliberate  and  tedious  old 
narrator,  till  he  himself  had  reached  stupefaction,  magnetized 
in  an  inexplicable  way  by  the  power  of  inertia. 

"  Well,  my  dear  Pere  Porriquet,"  he  said,  not  very  certain 
what  the  question  was  to  which  he  was  replying,  "but  I  can 
do  nothing  for  you,  nothing  at  all.  I  wish  very  heartily  that 
you  may  succeed " 

All  at  once,  without  seeing  the  change  wrought  on  the  old 
man's  sallow  and  wrinkled  brow  by  these  conventional  phrases, 
full  of  indifference  and  selfishness,  Raphael  sprang  to  his  feet 
like  a  startled  roebuck.  He  saw  a  thin  white  line  between 
the  black  piece  of  hide  and  the  red  tracing  about  it,  and  gave 
a  cry  so  fearful  that  the  poor  professor  was  frightened  by  it. 

"  Old  fool !  Go  !  "  he  cried.  "  You  will  be  appointed  as 
headmaster.  Couldn't  you  have  asked  me  for  an  annuity  of 
a  thousand  crowns  rather  than  a  murderous  wish  ?  Your  vi'sit 
would  have  cost  me  nothing.  There  are  a  hundred  thousand 
situations  to  be  had  in  France,  but  I  have  only  one  life.  A 
man's  life  is  worth  more  than  all  the  situations  in  the  world. 
— Jonathan ! " 

Jonathan  appeared. 


194  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

"  This  is  your  doing,  double-distilled  idiot !  What  made 
you  suggest  that  I  should  see  M.  Porriquet  ?  "  and  he  pointed 
to  the  old  man,  who  was  petrified  with  fright.  "  Did  I  put 
myself  into  your  hands  for  you  to  tear  me  in  pieces  ?  You 
have  just  shortened  my  life  by  ten  years  !  Another  blunder 
of  this  kind,  and  you  will  lay  me  where  I  have  laid  my  father. 
Would  I  not  far  rather  have  possessed  the  beautiful  Foedora  ? 
And  I  have  obliged  that  old  hulk  instead — that  rag  of  hu- 
manity !  I  had  money  enough  for  him.  And,  moreover,  if 
all  the  Porriquets  in  the  world  were  dying  of  hunger,  what  is 
that  to  me  ?  " 

Raphael's  face  was  white  with  anger  ;  a  slight  froth  marked 
his  trembling  lips ;  there  was  a  savage  gleam  in  his  eyes. 
The  two  elders  shook  with  terror  in  his  presence  like  two  chil- 
dren at  the  sight  of  a  snake.  The  young  man  fell  back  in  his 
armchair,  a  kind  of  reaction  took  place  in  him,  the  tears 
flowed  fast  from  his  angry  eyes. 

"Oh,  my  life  !  "  he  cried,  "  that  fair  life  of  mine.  Never 
to  know  a  kindly  thought  again,  to  love  no  more ;  nothing  is 
left  to  me!  " 

He  turned  to  the  professor  and  went  on  in  a  gentle  voice — 
"  The  harm  is  done,  my  old  friend.  Your  services  have  been 
well  repaid  ;  and  my  misfortune  has  at  any  rate  contributed 
to  the  welfare  of  a  good  and  worthy  man." 

His  tones  betrayed  so  much  feeling  that  the  almost  unin- 
telligible words  drew  tears  from  the  two  old  men,  such  tears 
as  are  shed  over  some  pathetic  song  in  a  foreign  tongue. 

"  He  is  epileptic,"  muttered  Porriquet. 

"I  understand  your  kind  intentions,  my  friend,"  Raphael 
answered  gently.  "You  would  make  excuses  for  me.  Ill- 
health  cannot  be  helped,  but  ingratitude  is  a  grievous  fault. 
Leave  me  now,"  he  added.  "To-morrow,  or  the  next  day, 
or  possibly  to-night,  you  will  receive  your  appointment ; 
resistance  has  triumphed  over  motion.  Farewell." 

The  old  schoolmaster  went  away,  full  of  keen  apprehension 


THE  AGONY.  195 

as  to  Valentin's  sanity.  A  thrill  of  horror  ran  through  him ; 
there  had  been  something  supernatural,  he  thought,  in  the 
scene  he  had  passed  through.  He  could  hardly  believe  his 
own  impressions,  and  questioned  them  like  one  awakened 
from  a  painful  dream. 

"  Now  attend  to  me,  Jonathan,"  said  the  young  man  to  his 
old  servant.  "Try  to  understand  the  charge  confided  to 
you." 

"Yes,  my  Lord  Marquis." 

"  I  am  as  a  man  outlawed  from  humanity." 

"Yes,  my  Lord  Marquis." 

"All  the  pleasures  of  life  disport  themselves  round  my  bed 
of  death,  and  dance  about  me  like  fair  women ;  but  if  I 
beckon  to  them  I  must  die.  Death  always  confronts  me. 
You  must  be  the  barrier  between  the  world  and  me." 

"Yes,  my  Lord  Marquis,"  said  the  old  servant,  wiping  the 
drops  of  perspiration  from  his  wrinkled  forehead.  "  But  if 
you  don't  wish  to  see  pretty  women  how  will  you  manage  at 
the  Italiens  this  evening?  An  English  family  is  returning  to 
London,  and  I  have  taken  their  box  for  the  rest  of  the  season, 
and  it  is  in  a  splendid  position — superb;  in  the  first  row." 

Raphael,  deep  in  his  own  musings,  paid  no  attention  to 
him. 

Do  you  see  that  splendid  equipage,  a  brougham  painted  a 
dark  brown  color,  but  with  the  arms  of  an  ancient  and  noble 
family  shining  from  the  panels  ?  As  it  rolls  past,  all  the  shop- 
girls admire  it,  and  look  longingly  at  the  yellow  satin  lining, 
the  rugs  from  la  Savonnerie,  the  daintiness  and  freshness  of 
every  detail,  the  silken  cushions  and  tightly-fitting  glass 
windows.  Two  liveried  footmen  are  mounted  behind  this 
aristocratic  carriage  ;  and  within,  a  head  lies  back  among  the 
silken  cushions,  the  feverish  face  and  hollow  eyes  of  Raphael, 
melancholy  and  sad.  Emblem  of  the  doom  of  wealth  !  He 
flies  across  Paris  like  a  rocket,  and  reaches  the  peristyle  of  the 
The&tre  Favart.  The  passers-by  make  way  for  him;  the 


196  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

two  footmen  help  him  to  alight,  an  envious  crowd  looking  on 
the  while. 

"What  has  that  fellow  done  to  be  so  rich  ?  "  asks  a  poor 
law-student,  who  cannot  listen  to  the  magical  music  of  Ros- 
sini for  lack  of  a  five-franc  piece. 

Raphael  walked  slowly  along  the  gangway ;  he  expected  no 
enjoyment  from  these  pleasures  he  had  once  coveted  so  eagerly. 
In  the  interval  before  the  second  act  of  Semiramide  he  walked 
up  and  down  in  the  lobby,  and  along  the  corridors,  leaving 
his  box,  which  he  had  not  yet  entered,  to  look  after  itself. 
The  instinct  of  property  was  dead  within  him  already.  Like 
all  invalids,  he  thought  of  nothing  but  his  own  sufferings.  He 
was  leaning  against  the  chimney-piece  in  the  green-room.  A 
group  had  gathered  about  it  of  dandies,  young  and  old,  of 
ministers  and  ex-ministers,  of  peers  without  peerages,  and  peer- 
ages without  peers,  for  so  the  Revolution  of  July  had  ordered 
matters.  Among  a  host  of  adventurers  and  journalists,  in 
fact,  Raphael  beheld  a  strange,  unearthly  figure  a  few  paces 
away  among  the  crowd.  He  went  towards  this  grotesque 
object  to  see  it  better,  half-closing  his  eyes  with  exceeding 
superciliousness. 

"  What  a  wonderful  bit  of  painting  !  "  he  said  to  himself. 
The  stranger's  hair  and  eyebrows  and  a  Mazarin  tuft  on  the 
chin  had  been  dyed  black,  but  the  result  was  a  spurious, 
glossy,  purple  tint  that  varied  its  hues  according  to  the 
light ;  the  hair  had  been  too  white,  no  doubt,  to  take  the 
preparation.  Anxiety  and  cunning  were  depicted  in  the 
narrow,  insignificant  face,  with  its  wrinkles  incrusted  by  thick 
layers  of  red  and  white  paint.  This  red  enamel,  lacking  on 
some  portions  of  his  face,  strongly  brought  out  his  natural 
feebleness  and  livid  hues.  It  was  impossible  not  to  smile 
at  this  visage  with  the  protuberant  forehead  and  pointed 
chin,  a  face  not  unlike  those  grotesque  wooden  figures  that 
German  herdsmen  carve  in  their  spare  moments. 

An  attentive  observer  looking  from  Raphael  to  this  elderly 


THE  AGONY.  197 

Adonis  would  have  remarked  a  young  man's  eyes  set  in  a  mask 
of  age,  in  the  case  of  the  marquis,  and  in  the  other  case  the 
dim  eyes  of  age  peering  forth  from  behind  a  mask  of  youth. 
Valentin  tried  to  recollect  when  and  where  he  had  seen  this 
little  old  man  before.  He  was  thin,  fastidiously  cravatted, 
booted  and  spurred  like  one-and-twenty  ;  he  crossed  his  arms 
and  clinked  his  spurs  as  if  he  possessed  all  the  wanton  energy 
of  youth.  He  seemed  to  move  about  without  constraint  or 
difficulty.  He  had  carefully  buttoned  up  his  fashionable 
coat,  which  disguised  his  powerful,  elderly  frame,  and  gave 
him  the  appearance  of  an  antiquated  coxcomb  who  still  follows 
the  fashions. 

For  Raphael  this  animated  puppet  possessed  all  the  interest 
of  an  apparition.  He  gazed  at  it  as  if  it  had  been  some 
smoke-begrimed  Rembrandt,  recently  restored  and  newly 
framed.  This  idea  found  him  a  clue  to  the  truth  among  his 
confused  recollections ;  he  recognized  the  dealer  in  antiqui- 
ties, the  man  to  whom  he  owed  his  calamities ! 

A  noiseless  laugh  broke  just  then  from  the  fantastical  per- 
sonage, straightening  the  line  of  his  lips  that  stretched  across 
a  row  of  artificial  teeth.  That  laugh  brought  out,  for 
Raphael's  heated  fancy,  a  strong  resemblance  between  the 
man  before  him  and  the  type  of  head  that  painters  have  as- 
signed to  Goethe's  Mephistopheles.  A  crowd  of  superstitious 
thoughts  entered  Raphael's  sceptical  mind  ;  he  was  convinced 
of  the  powers  of  the  devil  and  of  all  the  sorcerer's  enchant- 
ments embodied  in  mediaeval  tradition,  and  since  worked  up 
by  poets.  Shrinking  in  horror  from  the  destiny  of  Faust,  he 
prayed  for  the  protection  of  Heaven  with  all  the  ardent  faith 
of  a  dying  man  in  God  and  the  Virgin.  A  clear,  bright  radi- 
ance seemed  to  give  him  a  glimpse  of  the  heaven  of  Michel 
Angelo  or  of  Raphael  of  Urbino  :  a  venerable  white-bearded 
man,  a  beautiful  woman  seated  in  an  aureole  of  the  clouds 
and  winged  cherub  heads.  Now  he  had  grasped  and  received 
the  meaning  of  those  imaginative,  almost  human  creations; 


198  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

they  seemed  to  explain  what  had  happened  to  him,  to  leave 
him  yet  one  hope. 

But  when  the  greenroom  of  the  Italiens  returned  upon  his 
sight,  he  beheld  not  the  Virgin,  but  a  very  handsome  young 
person.  The  execrable  Euphrasia,  in  all  the  splendor  of  her 
toilette,  with  its  orient  pearls,  had  come  thither,  impatient 
for  her  ardent,  elderly  admirer.  She  was  insolently  exhibiting 
herself  with  her  defiant  face  and  glittering  eyes  to  an  envious 
crowd  of  stockbrokers,  a  visible  testimony  to  the  inexhaustible 
wealth  that  the  old  dealer  permitted  her  to  squander. 

Raphael  recollected  the  mocking  wish  with  which  he  had 
accepted  the  old  man's  luckless  gift,  and  tasted  all  the  sweets 
of  revenge  when  he  beheld  the  spectacle  of  sublime  wisdom 
fallen  to  such  a  depth  as  this,  wisdom  for  which  such  humilia- 
tion had  seemed  a  thing  impossible.  The  centenarian  greeted 
Euphrasia  with  a  ghastly  smile,  receiving  her  honeyed  words 
in  reply.  He  offered  her  his  emaciated  arm,  and  went  twice 
or  thrice  round  the  greenroom  with  her ;  the  envious  glances 
and  compliments  with  which  the  crowd  received  his  mistress 
delighted  him  ;  he  did  not  see  the  scornful  smiles,  nor  hear 
the  caustic  comments  to  which  he  gave  rise. 

"  In  what  cemetery  did  this  young  ghoul  unearth  that 
corpse  of  hers?  "  asked  the  dandy  of  the  romantic  faction. 

"Euphrasia  began  to  smile.  The  speaker  was  a  slender, 
fair-haired  youth,  with  bright  blue  eyes,  and  a  moustache. 
His  short  dress  coat,  hat  tilted  over  one  ear,  and  sharp  tongue, 
all  denoted  the  species. 

"How  many  old  men,"  said  Raphael  to  himself,  "bring 
an  upright,  virtuous,  and  hard-working  life  to  a  close  in  folly  ! 
His  feet  are  cold  already,  and  he  is  making  love." 

"Well,  sir,"  exclaimed  Valentin,  stopping  the  merchant's 
progress,  while  he  stared  hard  at  Euphrasia,  "  have  you  quite 
forgotten  the  stringent  maxims  of  your  philosophy?  " 

"Ah,  I  am  as  happy  now  as  a  young  man,"  said  the  other, 
in  a  cracked  voice.  "I  used  to  look  at  existence  from  a 


THE  AGONY.  199 

wrong  standpoint.  One  hour  of  love  has  a  whole  life  in  it." 
The  playgoers  heard  the  bell  ring,  and  left  the  greenroom 
to  take  their  places  again.  Raphael  and  the  old  merchant  sepa- 
rated. As  he  entered  his  box,  the  Marquis  saw  Foedora  sitting 
exactly  opposite  to  him  on  the  other  side  of  the  theatre.  The 
Countess  had  probably  only  just  come,  for  she  was  just  flinging 
off  her  scarf  to  leave  her  throat  uncovered,  and  was  occupied 
with  going  through  all  the  indescribable  manoeuvres  of  a 
coquette  arranging  herself.  All  eyes  were  turned  upon  her. 
A  young  peer  of  France  had  come  with  her;  she  asked  him 
for  the  lorgnette  which  she  had  given  him  to  carry.  Raphael 
knew  the  despotism  to  which  his  successor  had  resigned  him- 
self, in  her  gestures,  and  in  the  way  she  treated  her  companion. 
He  was  also  under  the  spell  no  doubt,  another  dupe  beating 
with  all  the  might  of  a  real  affection  against  the  woman's  cold 
calculations,  enduring  all  the  tortures  from  which  Valentin 
had  luckily  freed  himself. 

Fcedora's  face  lighted  up  with  indescribable  joy.  After 
directing  her  lorgnette  upon  every  box  in  turn,  to  make  a  rapid 
survey  of  all  the  dresses,  she  was  conscious  that  by  her  toilette 
and  her  beauty  she  had  eclipsed  the  loveliest  and  best-dressed 
women  in  Paris.  She  laughed  to  show  her  white  teeth ;  her 
head  with  its  wreath  of  flowers  was  never  still,  in  her  quest 
of  admiration.  Her  glances  went  from  one  box  to  another, 
as  she  diverted  herself  with  the  awkward  way  in  which  a 
Russian  princess  wore  her  bonnet,  or  over  the  utter  failure  of 
a  bonnet  with  which  a  banker's  daughter  had  disfigured  her- 
self. 

All  at  once  she  met  Raphael's  steady  gaze  and  turned  pale, 
aghast  at  the  intolerable  contempt  in  her  rejected  lover's  eyes. 
Not  one  of  her  exiled  suitors  had  failed  to  own  her  power  over 
them ;  Valentin  alone  was  proof  against  her  attractions.  A 
power  that  can  be  defied  with  impunity  is  drawing  to  its  end. 
This  axiom  is  as  deeply  engraved  on  the  heart  of  woman  as 
in  the  minds  of  kings.  In  Raphael,  therefore,  Fcedora  saw 


200  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

the  deathblow  of  her  influence  and  her  ability  to  please.  An 
epigram  of  his,  made  at  the  opera  the  day  before,  was  already 
known  in  the  salons  of  Paris.  The  biting  edge  of  that  terrible 
speech  had  already  given  the  Countess  an  incurable  wound. 
We  know  how  to  cauterize  a  wound,  but  we  know  of  no  treat- 
ment as  yet  for  the  stab  of  a  phrase.  As  every  other  woman 
in  the  house  looked  by  turns  at  her  and  at  the  Marquis,  Fcedora 
would  have  consigned  them  all  to  the  dungeons  of  some  Bas- 
tille ;  for  in  spite  of  her  capacity  for  dissimulation,  her  discom- 
fiture was  discerned  by  her  rivals.  Her  unfailing  consolation 
had  slipped  from  her  at  last.  The  delicious  thought,  "  I  am 
the  most  beautiful,"  the  thought  that  all  times  had  soothed 
every  mortification,  had  turned  into  a  lie. 

At  the  opening  of  the  second  act  a  woman  took  up  her 
position  not  very  far  from  Raphael,  in  a  box  that  had  been 
empty  hitherto.  A  murmur  of  admiration  went  up  from  the 
whole  house.  In  that  sea  of  human  faces  there  was  a  move- 
ment of  every  living  wave ;  all  eyes  were  turned  upon  the 
stranger  lady.  The  applause  of  young  and  old  were  so  pro- 
longed, that  when  the  orchestra  began,  the  musicians  turned 
to  the  audience  to  request  silence,  and  then  they  themselves 
joined  in  the  plaudits  and  swelled  the  confusion.  Excited 
talk  began  in  every  box,  every  woman  equipped  herself  with 
an  opera  glass,  elderly  men  grew  young  again,  and  polished 
the  glasses  of  their  lorgnettes  with  their  gloves.  The  enthus- 
iasm subsided  by  degrees,  the  stage  echoed  with  the  voices  of 
the  singers,  and  order  reigned  as  before.  The  aristocratic 
section,  ashamed  of  having  yielded  to  a  spontaneous  feeling, 
again  assumed  their  wonted  politely  frigid  manner.  The  well- 
to-do  dislike  to  be  astonished  at  anything ;  at  the  first  sight 
of  a  beautiful  thing  it  becomes  their  duty  to  discover  the 
defect  in  it  which  absolves  them  from  admiring  it — the  feeling 
of  all  ordinary  minds.  Yet  a  few  still  remained  motionless 
and  heedless  of  the  music,  artlessly  absorbed  in  the  delight 
of  watching  Raphael's  neighbor. 


THE  AGONY.  201 

Valentin  noticed  Taillefer's  mean,  obnoxious  countenance 
by  Aquilina's  side  in  a  lower  box,  and  received  an  approving 
smirk  from  him.  Then  he  saw  Emile,  who  seemed  to  say 
from  where  he  stood  in  the  orchestra,  "  Just  look  at  that  lovely 
creature  there,  close  beside  you  !  "  Lastly,  he  saw  Rastignac, 
with  Mme.  de  Nucingen  and  her  daughter,  twisting  his  gloves 
like  a  man  in  despair,  because  he  was  tethered  to  his  place, 
and  could  not  leave  it  to  go  any  nearer  to  the  unknown  fair 
divinity. 

Raphael's  life  depended  upon  a  covenant  that  he  had  made 
with  himself,  and  had  hitherto  kept  sacred.  He  would  give 
no  special  heed  to  any  woman  whatever ;  and  the  better  to 
guard  against  temptation,  he  used  a  cunningly  contrived  opera- 
glass  which  destroyed  the  harmony  of  the  fairest  features  by 
hideous  distortions.  He  had  not  recovered  from  the  terror 
that  had  seized  on  him  in  the  morning  when,  at  a  mere  ex- 
pression of  civility,  the  Wild  Ass'  Skin  had  contracted  so 
abruptly.  So  Raphael  was  determined  not  to  turn  his  face  in 
the  direction  of  his  neighbor.  He  sat  imperturbable  as  a 
duchess,  with  his  back  against  the  corner  of  the  box,  thereby 
shutting  out  half  of  his  neighbor's  view  of  the  stage,  appear- 
ing to  disregard  her,  and  even  to  be  unaware  that  a  pretty 
woman  sat  there  just  behind  him. 

His  neighbor  copied  Valentin's  position  exactly  !  she  leaned 
her  elbow  on  the  edge  of  her  box  and  turned  her  face  in  three- 
quarter  profile  upon  the  singers  on  the  stage,  as  if  she  were 
sitting  to  a  painter.  These  two  people  looked  like  two 
estranged  lovers  still  sulking,  still  turning  their  backs  upon 
each  other,  who  will  go  into  each  other's  arms  at  the  first 
tender  word. 

Now  and  again  his  neighbor's  ostrich  feathers  or  her  hair 
came  in  contact  with  Raphael's  head,  giving  him  a  pleasur- 
able thrill,  against  which  he  sternly  fought.  In  a  little 
while  he  felt  the  touch  of  the  soft  frill  of  lace  that  went 
round  her  dress;  he  could  hear  the  gracious  sounds  of  the 


202  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

folds  of  her  dress  itself,  light  rustling  noises  full  of  enchant- 
ment ;  he  could  even  feel  her  movements  as  she  breathed, 
with  the  gentle  stir  thus  imparted  to  her  form  and  to  her 
draperies,  it  seemed  to  Raphael  that  all  her  being  was  suddenly 
communicated  to  him  in  an  electric  spark.  The  lace  and 
tulle  that  caressed  him  imparted  the  delicious  warmth  of  her 
bare,  white  shoulders.  By  a  freak  in  the  ordering  of  things, 
these  two  creatures,  kept  apart  by  social  conventions,  with 
the  abysses  of  death  between  them,  breathed  together  and 
perhaps  thought  of  one  another.  Finally,  the  subtle  perfume 
of  aloes  completed  the  work  of  Raphael's  intoxication. 
Opposition  heated  his  imagination,  and  his  fancy,  become 
the  wilder  for  the  limits  imposed  upon  it,  sketched  a  woman 
for  him  in  outlines  of  fire.  He  turned  abruptly,  the  stranger 
made  a  similar  movement,  startled  no  doubt  at  being  brought 
in  contact  with  a  stranger ;  and  they  remained  face  to  face, 
each  with  the  same  thought. 

"Pauline!  " 

"M.  Raphael!  " 

Each  surveyed  the  other,  both  of  them  petrified  with  aston- 
ishment. Raphael  noticed  Pauline's  daintily  simple  costume. 
A  woman's  experienced  eyes  would  have  discerned  and  ad- 
mired the  outlines  beneath  the  modest  gauze  folds  of  her 
bodice  and  the  lily  whiteness  of  her  throat.  And  then  her 
more  than  mortal  clearness  of  soul,  her  maidenly  modesty, 
her  graceful  bearing,  all  were  unchanged.  Her  sleeve  was 
quivering  with  agitation,  for  the  beating  of  her  heart  was 
shaking  her  whole  frame. 

"  Come  to  the  Hotel  de  Saint-Quentin  to-morrow  for  your 
papers,"  she  said.  "  I  will  be  there  at  noon.  Be  punctual." 

She  rose  hastily  and  disappeared.  Raphael  thought  of 
following  Pauline,  feared  to  compromise  her,  and  stayed.  He 
looked  at  Fcedora  ;  she  seemed  to  him  positively  ugly.  Un- 
able to  understand  a  single  phrase  of  the  music,  and  feeling 
stifled  in  the  theatre,  he  went  out,  and  returned  home. 


THE  AGONY.  203 

"Jonathan,"  he  said  to  the  old  servant,  as  soon  as  he  lay 
in  bed,  "give  me  half  a  drop  of  laudanum  on  a  piece  of 
sugar,  and  don't  wake  me  to-morrow  till  twenty  minutes  to 
twelve." 

"I  want  Pauline  to  love  me,"  he  cried  next  morning, 
looking  at  the  talisman  the  while  in  unspeakable  anguish. 

The  skin  did  not  move  in  the  least ;  it  seemed  to  have  lost 
its  power  to  shrink ;  doubtless  it  could  not  fulfil  a  wish  ful- 
filled already. 

"Ah  !  "  exclaimed  Raphael,  feeling  as  if  a  mantle  of  lead 
had  fallen  away,  which  he  had  worn  ever  since  the  day  when 
the  talisman  had  been  given  to  him  ;  "  so  you  are  playing  me 
false,  you  are  not  obeying  me,  the  pact  is  broken  !  I  am 
free;  I  shall  live.  Then  was  it  all  a  wretched  joke?"  But 
he  did  not  dare  to  believe  in  his  own  thought  as  he  uttered  it. 

He  dressed  himself  as  simply  as  had  formerly  been  his 
wont,  and  set  out  on  foot  for  his  old  lodging,  trying  to  go 
back  in  fancy  to  the  happy  days  when  he  abandoned  himself 
without  peril  to  vehement  desires,  the  days  when  he  had  not 
yet  condemned  all  human  enjoyment.  As  he  walked  he 
beheld  Pauline — not  the  Pauline  of  the  Hotel  Saint-Quentin, 
but  the  Pauline  of  last  evening.  Here  was  the  accomplished 
mistress  he  had  so  often  dreamed  of,  the  intelligent  young 
girl  with  the  loving  nature  and  artistic  temperament,  who 
understood  poets,  who  understood  poetry,  and  lived  in  luxu- 
rious surroundings.  Here,  in  short,  was  Fcedora,  gifted  with 
a  great  soul ;  or  Pauline  become  a  countess,  and  twice  a 
millionaire,  as  Fcedora  had  been.  When  he  reached  the  worn 
threshold,  and  stood  upon  the  broken  step  at  the  door,  where 
in  other  days  he  had  so  many  desperate  thoughts,  an  old 
woman  came  out  of  the  room  within  and  spoke  to  him. 

"You  are  M.  Raphael  de  Valentin,  are  you  not?  " 

"  Yes,  good  mother,"  he  replied. 

"  You  know  your  old  room  then,"  she  replied  ;  "  you  are 
expected  up  there." 


204  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

"  Does  Mme.  Gaudin  still  own  the  house?  "  Raphael  asked. 

"  Oh  no,  sir.  Mme.  Gaudin  is  a  baroness  now.  She  lives 
in  a  fine  house  of  her  own  on  the  other  side  of  the  river.  Her 
husband  has  come  back.  My  goodness,  he  brought  back 
thousands  and  thousands,  They  say  she  could  buy  up  all 
the  Quartier  Saint-Jacques  if  she  liked.  She  gave  me  her 
basement  room  for  nothing,  and  the  remainder  of  her  lease. 
Ah,  she's  a  kind  woman  all  the  same;  she  is  no  more  proud 
to-day  than  she  was  yesterday." 

Raphael  hurried  up  the  staircase  to  his  garret ;  as  he 
reached  the  last  few  steps  he  heard  the  sounds  of  a  piano. 
Pauline  was  there,  simply  dressed  in  a  cotton  gown,  but  the 
way  that  it  was  made,  like  the  gloves,  hat,  and  shawl  that  she 
had  thrown  down  carelessly  upon  the  bed,  revealed  a  change 
of  fortune. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are  !  "  cried  Pauline,  turning  her  head,  and 
rising  with  unconcealed  delight. 

Raphael  went  to  sit  beside  her,  flushed,  confused,  and 
happy  ;  he  looked  at  her  in  silence. 

"Why  did  you  leave  us  then?"  she  asked,  dropping  hei 
eyes  as  the  flush  deepened  on  his  face.  "What  became  of 
you  ?  ' ' 

"  Ah,  I  have  been  very  miserable,  Pauline ;  I  am  very 
miserable  still." 

"Alas!"  she  said,  filled  with  pitying  tenderness.  "I 
guessed  your  fate  yesterday  when  I  saw  you  so  well  dressed, 
and  apparently  so  wealthy;  but  in  reality?  Eh,  M.  Raphael, 
is  it  as  it  always  used  to  be  with  you?" 

Valentin  could  not  restrain  the  tears  that  sprang  to  his 
eyes. 

"Pauline,"  he  exclaimed,  "I " 

He  went  no  further,  love  sparkled  in  his  eyes,  and  his 
emotion  overflowed  his  face. 

"  Oh,  he  loves  me !   he  loves  me  !  "  cried  Pauline. 

Raphael  felt  himself  unable  to  say  one  word  ;  he  bent  his 


PAULINE     DREW     HER     HANDS      AWAY,     LAID     THEM      ON 

RAPHAEL'S     SHOULDERS,     AVD     DREW     HIM 

TOWARDS     HER. 


THE  AGONY.  205 

head.  The  young  girl  took  his  hand  at  this ;  she  pressed 
it  as  she  said,  half-sobbing  and  half-laughing — 

"  Rich,  rich,  happy  and  rich  !  Your  Pauline  is  rich.  But 
I  ?  Oh,  I  ought  to  be  very  poor  to-day.  I  have  said,  times 
without  number,  that  I  would  give  all  the  wealth  upon  this 
earth  for  those  words,  '  He  loves  me  ! '  O  my  Raphael ! 
I  have  millions.  You  like  luxury,  you  will  be  glad ;  but 
you  must  love  me  and  my  heart  besides,  for  there  is  so  much 
love  for  you  in  my  heart.  You  don't  know  !  My  father  has 
come  back.  I  am  a  wealthy  heiress.  Both  he  and  my 
mother  leave  me  completely  free  to  decide  my  own  fate.  I 
am  free — do  you  understand  !  " 

Seized  with  a  kind  of  frenzy,  Raphael  grasped  Pauline's 
hands  and  kissed  them  eagerly  and  vehemently,  with  an  almost 
convulsive  caress.  Pauline  drew  her  hands  away,  laid  them 
on  Raphael's  shoulders,  and  drew  him  towards  her.  They 
understood  one  another — in  that  close  embrace,  in  the 
unalloyed  and  sacred  fervor  of  that  one  kiss  without  an 
afterthought — the  first  kiss  by  which  two  souls  take  posses- 
sion of  each  other. 

"Ah,  I  will  not  leave  you  any  more,"  said  Pauline,  falling 
back  in  her  chair.  "  I  do  not  know  how  I  come  to  be  so 
bold  !  "  she  added,  blushing. 

"  Bold,  my  Pauline  !  Do  not  fear  it.  It  is  love,  love  true 
and  deep  and  everlasting  like  my  own,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"Speak!"  she  cried.  "Go  on  speaking,  so  long  your 
lips  have  been  dumb  for  me." 

"  Then  you  have  loved  me  all  along  ?  " 

" Loved  you?  Mon  Dieu !  How  often  I  have  wept  here, 
setting  your  room  straight,  and  grieving  for  your  poverty  and 
my  own.  I  would  have  sold  myself  to  the  evil  one  to  spare 
you  one  vexation  !  You  are  my  Raphael  to-day,  really  my 
own  Raphael,  with  that  handsome  head  of  yours,  and  your 
heart  is  mine  too;  yes,  that  above  all,  your  heart — O  wealth 
inexhaustible!  Well,  where  was  I? "she  went  on  after  a 
14 


206  THE    WILD  ASS1    SKIN. 

pause.  "  Oh  yes  !  We  have  three,  four,  or  five  millions,  I 
believe.  If  I  were  poor,  I  should  perhaps  desire  to  bear  your 
name,  to  be  acknowledged  as  your  wife ;  but  as  it  is,  I  would 
give  up  the  whole  world  for  you,  I  would  be  your  servant  still, 
now  and  always.  Why,  Raphael,  if  I  give  you  my  fortune, 
my  heart,  myself  to-day,  I  do  no  more  than  I  did  that  day  when 
I  put  a  certain  five-franc  piece  in  the  drawer  there,"  and  she 
pointed  to  the  table.  "Oh,  how  your  exultation  hurt  me 
then!" 

"  Oh,  why  are  you  rich  ?  "  Raphael  cried  ;  "  why  is  there 
no  vanity  in  you?  I  can  do  nothing  for  you." 

He  wrung  his  hands  in  despair  and  happiness  and  love. 

"When  you  are  the  Marquise  de  Valentin,  I  know  that  the 
title  and  the  fortune  for  thee,  heavenly  soul,  will  not  be 
worth " 

"One  hair  of  your  head,"  she  cried. 

"  I  have  millions  too.  But  what  is  wealth  to  either  of  us 
now?  There  is  my  life — ah,  that  I  can  offer,  take  it." 

"  Your  love,  Raphael,  your  love  is  all  the  world  to  me. 
Are  your  thoughts  of  me?  I  am  the  happiest  of  the  happy  !  " 

"  Can  any  one  overhear  us?  "  asked  Raphael. 

"Nobody,"  she  replied,  with  a  mischievous  gesture. 

"Come,  then  !  "  cried  Valentin,  holding  out  his  arms. 

She  sprang  upon  his  knees  and  clasped  her  arms  about  his 
neck. 

"  Kiss  me  !  "  she  cried,  "  after  all  the  pain  you  have  given 
me ;  to  blot  out  the  memory  of  the  grief  that  your  joys  have 
caused  me;  and  for  the  sake  of  the  nights  that  I  spent  in 
painting  hand-screens " 

"  Those  hand-screens  of  yours?" 

"  Now  that  we  are  rich,  my  darling,  I  can  tell  you  all  about 
it.  Poor  boy  !  how  easy  it  is  to  delude  a  clever  man  !  Could 
you  have  had  white  waistcoats  and  clean  shirts  twice  a  week 
for  three  francs  every  month  to  the  laundress?  Why,  you 
used  to  drink  twice  as  much  milk  as  your  money  would  have 


THE  AGONY.  207 

paid  for.  I  deceived  you  all  round — over  firing,  oil,  and 
even  money.  O  Raphael  mine,  don't  have  me  for  your  wife, 
I  am  far  too  cunning  !  "  she  said  laughingly. 

"  How  did  you  manage  it  ?  " 

"I  used  to  work  till  two  o'clock  in  the  morning;  I  gave 
my  mother  half  the  money  made  by  my  screens,  and  the  other 
half  went  to  you." 

They  looked  at  one  another  for  a  moment,  both  bewildered 
by  love  and  gladness. 

"  Some  day  we  shall  have  to  pay  for  this  happiness  by  some 
terrible  sorrow,"  cried  Raphael. 

11  Perhaps  you  are  married  !  "  cried  Pauline.  "Oh,  I  will 
not  give  you  up  to  another  woman." 

"  I  am  free,  my  beloved." 

"  Free  ?  ' '  she  repeated.      "  Free,  and  mine  ?  " 

She  slipped  down  upon  her  knees,  clasped  her  hands,  and 
looked  at  Raphael  in  an  enthusiasm  of  devotion. 

"  I  am  afraid  I  shall  go  mad.  How  handsome  you  are  !  " 
she  went  on,  passing  her  fingers  through  her  lover's  fair  hair. 
"  How  stupid  your  Countess  Fcedora  is  !  How  pleased  I  was 
yesterday  with  the  homage  they  all  paid  to  me  !  She  has 
never  been  applauded.  Dear,  when  I  felt  your  arm  against 
my  back,  I  heard  a  vague  voice  within  me  that  cried,  '  He  is 
there  !  '  and  I  turned  round  and  saw  you.  I  fled,  for  I  longed 
so  to  throw  my  arms  about  you  before  them  all." 

"How  happy  you  are — you  can  speak!"  Raphael  ex- 
claimed. "  My  heart  is  overwhelmed ;  I  would  weep,  but  I 
cannot.  Do  not  draw  your  hand  away.  I  could  stay  here 
looking  at  you  like  this  for  the  rest  of  my  life,  I  think  ;  happy 
and  content." 

"  O  my  love,  say  that  once  more  !  " 

"Ah,  what  are  words?  "  answered  Valentin,  letting  a  hot 
tear  fall  on  Pauline's  hands.  "  Some  time  I  will  try  to  tell 
you  of  my  love  ;  just  now  I  can  only  feel  it." 

"You,"  she  said,  "  with  your  lofty  soul  and  your  great 


208  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

genius,  with  that  heart  of  yours,  that  I  know  so  well  ;    are 
you  really  mine,  as  I  am  yours  ?  ' ' 

"  For  ever  and  ever,  my  sweet  creature,"  said  Raphael  in 
an  uncertain  voice.  "  You  shall  be  my  wife,  my  protecting 
angel.  My  griefs  have  always  been  dispelled  by  your  pres- 
ence, and  my  courage  revived  ;  that  angelic  smile  now  on 
your  lips  has  purified  me,  so  to  speak.  A  new  life  seems  about 
to  begin  for  me.  The  cruel  past  and  my  wretched  follies  are 
hardly  more  to  me  than  evil  dreams.  At  your  side  I  breathe 
an  atmosphere  of  happiness,  and  I  am  pure.  Be  with 
me  always,"  he  added,  pressing  her  solemnly  to  his  beating 
heart. 

"  Death  may  come  when  it  will,"  said  Pauline  in  ecstasy; 
"  I  have  lived  !  " 

Happy  he  who  shall  divine  their  joy,  for  he  must  have 
experienced  it. 

"  I  wish  that  no  one  might  enter  this  dear  garret  again,  my 
Raphael,"  said  Pauline,  after  two  hours  of  silence. 

"  We  must  have  the  door  walled  up,  put  bars  across  the 
windows,  and  buy  the  house,"  the  Marquis  answered. 

"Yes,  we  will,"  she  said.  Then  a  moment  later  she  added  : 
"  Our  search  for  your  manuscripts  has  been  a  little  lost  sight 
of,"  and  they  both  laughed  like  children. 

"Pshaw!  I  don't  care  a  jot  for  the  whole  circle  of  the 
sciences,"  Raphael  answered. 

'  Ah,  sir,  and  how  about  glory  ?  " 

"  I  glory  in  you  alone." 

"  You  used  to  be  very  miserable  as  you  made  these  little 
scratches  and  scrawls,"  she  said,  turning  the  papers  over. 

"My  Pauline " 

"Oh,  yes,  I  am  your  Pauline — and  what  then?  " 

"  Where  are  you  living  now?  " 

"  In  the  Rue  Saint  Lazare.     And  you?  " 

"  In  the  Rue  de  Varenne." 

"What  a  long  way  apart  we    shall  be  until "     She 


THE  AGONY.  209 

stopped,  and  looked  at  her  lover  with  a  mischievous  and 
coquettish  expression. 

"But  at  the  most  we  need  only  be  separated  for  a  fort- 
night," Raphael  answered. 

"  Really  !  we  are  to  be  married  in  a  fortnight?  "  and  she 
jumped  for  joy  like  a  child. 

"I  am  an  unnatural  daughter?  "  she  went  on.  "I  give 
no  more  thought  to  my  father  or  my  mother,  or  to  anything 
in  the  world.  Poor  love,  you  don't  know  that  my  father  is 
very  ill  ?  He  returned  from  the  Indies  in  very  bad  health. 
He  nearly  died  at  Havre,  where  we  went  to  find  him.  Good 
heavens!  "  she  cried,  looking  at  her  watch;  "it  is  three 
o'clock  already  !  I  ought  to  be  back  again  when  he  wakes  at 
four.  I  am  mistress  of  the  house  at  home  ;  my  mother  does 
everything  that  I  wish,  and  my  father  worships  me ;  but  I 
will  not  abuse  their  kindness ;  that  would  be  wrong.  My 
poor  father  !  He  would  have  me  go  to  the  Italiens  yesterday. 
You  will  come  to  see  him  to-morrow,  will  you  not  ?  " 

"Will  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Valentin  honor  me  by  tak- 
ing my  arm?" 

"  I  am  going  to  take  the  key  of  this  room  away  with  me," 
she  said.  "  Isn't  our  treasure-house  a  palace?  " 

"One  more  kiss,  Pauline." 

"A  thousand,  Mon  Dieu  /"  she  said,  looking  at  Raphael. 
"  Will  it  always  be  like  this?  I  feel  as  if  I  were  dreaming." 

They  went  slowly  down  the  stairs  together,  step  for  step, 
with  arms  closely  linked,  trembling  both  of  them  beneath 
their  load  of  joy.  Each  pressing  close  to  the  other's  side,  like 
a  pair  of  doves,  they  reached  the  Place  de  la  Sorbonne,  where 
Pauline's  carriage  was  waiting. 

"  I  want  to  go  home  with  you,"  she  said.  "  I  want  to  see 
your  own  room  and  your  study,  and  sit  at  the  table  where  you 
work.  It  will  be  like  old  times,"  she  said,  blushing. 

She  spoke  to  the  servant.  "  Joseph,  before  returning  home 
I  am  going  to  the  Rue  de  Varenne.  It  is  a  quarter-past  three 


210  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

now,  and  I  must  be  back  again  by  four  o'clock.  George  must 
hurry  the  horses."  And  so  in  a  few  moments  the  lovers  came 
to  Valentin's  abode. 

"  How  glad  I  am  to  have  seen  all  this  for  myself!  "  Pauline 
cried,  creasing  the  silken  bed-curtains  in  Raphael's  room  be- 
tween her  fingers.  "As  I  go  to  sleep,  I  shall  be  here  in 
thought.  I  shall  imagine  your  dear  head  on  the  pillow  there. 
Raphael,  tell  me,  did  no  one  advise  you  about  the  furniture 
of  your  hotel  ?  " 

"  No  one  whatever." 

"Really?     It  was  not  a  woman  who " 

"Pauline!  " 

"  Oh,  I  know  I  am  fearfully  jealous.  You  have  good  taste. 
I  will  have  a  bed  like  yours  to-morrow." 

Quite  beside  himself  with  happiness,  Raphael  caught  Pauline 
in  his  arms. 

"  Oh,  my  father  !  "  she  said  ;   "my  father " 

"  I  will  take  you  back  to  him,"  cried  Valentin,  "  for  I  want 
to  be  away  from  you  as  little  as  possible." 

"  How  loving  you  are  !  1  did  not  venture  to  suggest  it '" 

"Are  you  not  my  life?" 

It  would  be  tedious  to  set  down  accurately  me  charm- 
ing prattle  of  the  lovers,  for  tones  and  looks  and  gestures 
that  cannot  be  rendered  alone  gave  it  significance.  Valentin 
went  back  with  Pauline  to  her  own  door,  and  returned 
with  as  much  happiness  i.i  his  heart  as  mortal  man  can 
know. 

When  he  was  seated  in  his  armchair  beside  the  fire,  think- 
ing over  the  sudden  and  complete  way  in  which  his  wishes  Kad 
been  fulfilled,  a  cold  shiver  went  through  him,  as  if  the  blade 
of  a  dagger  had  been  plunged  into  his  breast — he  thought 
of  the  Wild  Ass'  Skin,  and  saw  that  it  had  shrunk  a  little.  He 
uttered  the  most  tremendous  French  oaths,  without  any  of  the 
Jesuitical  reservations  made  by  the  Abbess  of  Andouillettes, 
leaned  his  head  against  the  back  of  the  chair,  and  sat  motion- 


THE  AGONY.  211 

less,  fixing  his  unseeing  eyes  upon  the  bracket  of  the  curtain 
pole. 

"Good  God!"  he  cried;  every  wish!  Every  desire  of 
mine!  Poor  Pauline " 

He  took  a  pair  of  compasses  and  measured  the  extent  of 
existence  that  the  morning  had  cost  him. 

"  I  have  scarcely  enough  for  two  months  !  "  he  said. 

A  cold  sweat  broke  out  over  him ;  moved  by  an  ungovern- 
able spasm  of  rage,  he  seized  the  Wild  Ass'  Skin,  exclaiming — 

"  I  am  a  perfect  fool !  " 

He  rushed  out  of  the  house  and  across  the  garden,  and  flung 
the  talisman  down  a  well. 

"Vogue  la galere,"  cried  he.  The  devil  take  all  this  non- 
sense." 

So  Raphael  gave  himself  up  to  the  happiness  of  being  be- 
loved, and  led  with  Pauline  the  life  of  heart  and  heart. 
Difficulties  which  it  would  be  somewhat  tedious  to  describe 
had  delayed  their  marriage,  which  was  to  take  place  early  in 
March.  Each  was  sure  of  the  other ;  their  affection  had  been 
tried,  and  happiness  had  taught  them  how  strong  it  was. 
Never  has  love  made  two  souls,  two  natures,  so  absolutely  one. 
The  more  they  came  to  know  each  other,  the  more  they  loved. 
On  either  side  there  was  the  same  hesitating  delicacy,  the 
same  transports  of  joy  such  as  angels  know ;  there  were  no 
clouds  in  their  heaven  ;  the  will  of  either  was  the  other's  law. 

Wealthy  as  they  both  were,  they  had  not  a  caprice  which 
they  could  not  gratify,  and  for  that  reason  had  no  caprices. 
A  refined  taste,  a  feeling  for  beauty  and  poetry,  was  instinct 
in  the  soul  of  the  bride ;  her  lover's  smile  was  more  to  her 
than  all  the  pearls  of  Ormuz.  She  disdained  feminine  finery; 
a  muslin  dress  and  flowers  formed  her  most  elaborate  toilette. 

Pauline  and  Raphael  shunned  every  one  else,  for  solitude 
was  abundantly  beautiful  to  them.  The  idlers  at  the  opera, 
or  at  the  Italiens,  saw  this  charming  and  unconventional  pair 
evening  after  evening.  Some  gossip  went  the  round  of  the 


212  THE    WILD  ASS>    SKIN. 

salons  at  first,  but  the  harmless  lovers  were  soon  forgotten  in 
the  course  of  events  which  took  place  in  Paris;  their  marriage 
was  announced  at  length  to 'excuse  them  in  the  eyes  of  the 
prudish;  and  as  it  happened,  their  servants  did  not  babble; 
so  their  bliss  did  not  draw  down  upon  them  any  very  severe 
punishment. 

One  morning  towards  the  end  of  February,  at  the  time 
when  the  brightening  days  bring  a  belief  in  the  nearness  of  the 
joys  of  spring,  Pauline  and  Raphael  were  breakfasting  to- 
gether in  a  small  conservatory,  a  kind  of  a  drawing-room 
filled  with  flowers,  on  a  level  with  the  garden.  The  mild 
rays  of  the  pale  winter  sunlight,  breaking  through  the  thicket 
of  exotic  plants,  warmed  the  air  somewhat.  The  vivid  con- 
trast made  by  the  variety  of  foliage,  the  colors  of  the  masses 
of  flowing  shrubs,  the  freaks  of  light  and  shadow,  gladdened 
the  eyes.  While  all  the  rest  of  Paris  still  sought  warmth  from 
its  melancholy  hearth,  these  two  were  laughing  in  a  bower  of 
camellias,  lilacs,  and  blossoming  heath.  Their  happy  faces  rose 
above  lilies  of  the  valley,  narcissus  blooms,  and  Bengal  roses. 
A  mat  of  plaited  African  grass,  variegated  like  a  carpet,  lay 
beneath  their  feet  in  this  luxurious  conservatory.  The  walls, 
covered  with  a  green  linen  material,  bore  no  traces  of  damp. 
The  surfaces  of  the  rustic  wooden  furniture  shone  with  clean- 
liness. A  kitten,  attracted  by  the  odor  of  milk,  had  estab- 
lished itself  upon  the  table ;  it  allowed  Pauline  to  bedabble 
it  in  coffee ;  she  was  playing  merrily  with  it,  taking  away  the 
cream  that  she  had  just  allowed  the  kitten  to  sniff  at,  so  as  to 
exercise  its  patience,  and  to  keep  up  the  contest.  She  burst 
out  laughing  at  every  antic,  and  by  the  comical  remarks  she 
constantly  made,  she  hindered  Raphael  from  perusing  the 
paper;  he  had  dropped  it  a  dozen  times  already.  This  morn- 
ing picture  seemed  to  overflow  with  inexpressible  gladness, 
like  everything  that  is  natural  and  genuine. 

Raphael,  still  pretending  to  read  his  paper,  furtively  watched 
Pauline  with  the  cat — his  Pauline,  in  the  dressing-gown  that 


THE  AGONY.  213 

hung  carelessly  about  her ;  his  Pauline,  with  her  hair  loose 
on  her  shoulders,  with  a  tiny,  white,  blue-veined  foot  peeping 
out  of  a  velvet  slipper.  It  was  pleasant  to  see  her  in  this 
negligent  dress ;  she  was  delightful  as  some  fanciful  picture 
by  Westall;  half-girl,  half-woman,  as  she  seemed  to  be,  or 
perhaps  more  of  a  girl  than  a  woman,  there  was  no  alloy  in 
the  happiness  she  enjoyed,  and  of  love  she  knew  as  yet  only 
its  first  ecstasy.  When  Raphael,  absorbed  in  happy  musing, 
had  forgotten  the  existence  of  the  newspaper,  Pauline  flew 
upon  it,  crumpled  it  up  into  a  ball,  and  threw  it  out  into  the 
garden  ;  the  kitten  sprang  after  the  rotating  object,  which 
spun  round  and  round,  as  politics  are  wont  to  do.  This 
childish  scene  recalled  Raphael  to  himself.  He  would  have 
gone  on  reading,  and  felt  for  the  sheet  he  no  longer  possessed. 
Joyous  laughter  rang  out  like  the  song  of  a  bird,  one  peal 
leading  to  another. 

"  I  am  quite  jealous  of  the  paper,"  she  said,  as  she  wiped 
away  the  tears  that  her  childlike  merriment  had  brought  into 
her  eyes.  "Now,  is  it  not  a  heinous  offence,"  she  went 
on,  as  she  became  a  woman  all  at  once,  "to  read  Russian 
proclamations  in  my  presence,  and  to  attend  to  the  prosings 
of  the  Emperor  Nicholas  rather  than  to  looks  and  words 
of  love!  " 

"I  was  not  reading,  my  dear  angel;  I  was  looking  at 
you." 

Just  then  the  gravel  walk  outside  the  conservatory  rang  with 
the  sound  of  the  gardener's  heavily  nailed  boots. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,  my  Lord  Marquis — and  yours,  too, 
madame — if  I  am  intruding,  but  I  have  brought  you  a  curi- 
osity the  like  of  which  I  never  set  eyes  on.  Drawing  a 
bucket  of  water  just  now,  with  due  respect,  I  got  out  this 
strange  salt-water  plant.  Here  it  is.  It  must  be  thoroughly 
used  to  water,  anyhow,  for  it  isn't  saturated  or  even  damp  at 
all.  It  is  as  dry  as  a  piece  of  wood,  and  has  not  swelled  a 
bit.  As  my  Lord  Marquis  certainly  knows  a  great  deal  more 


214  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

about  things  than  I  do,  I  thought  I  ought  to  bring  it,  and 
that  it  would  interest  him." 

Therewith  the  gardener  showed  Raphael  the  inexorable 
piece  of  skin ;  there  were  barely  six  square  inches  of  the  skin 
left. 

"Thanks,  Vaniere,"  Raphael  said.  "The  thing  is  very 
curious." 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  my  angel ;  you  are  growing 
quite  white  !  "  Pauline  cried. 

"You  can  go,  Vaniere." 

"  Your  voice  frightens  me,"  the  girl  went  on;  it  is  so 
strangely  altered.  What  is  it?  How  are  you  feeling?  Where 
is  the  pain  ?  You  are  in  pain  ! — Jonathan  !  here  !  call  a 
doctor  !  "  she  cried. 

"  Hush,  my  Pauline,"  Raphael  answered,  as  he  regained 
composure.  "  Let  us  get  up  and  go.  Some  flower  here  has 
a  scent  that  is  too  much  for  me.  It  is  that  verbena,  perhaps." 

Pauline  flew  upon  the  innocent  plant,  seized  it  by  the  stalk, 
and  flung  it  out  into  the  garden  ;  then  with  all  the  might  of 
the  love  between  them,  she  clasped  Raphael  in  a  close  em- 
brace, and  with  languishing  coquetry  raised  her  red  lips  to  his 
for  a  kiss. 

"  Dear  angel,"  she  cried,  "  when  I  saw  you  turn  so  white 
I  understood  that  I  could  not  live  on  without  you ;  your  life 
is  my  life  too.  Lay  your  hand  on  my  back,  Raphael  mine; 
I  feel  a  chill  like  death  ;  the  feeling  of  cold  is  there  yet. 
Your  lips  are  burning.  How  is  your  hand? — Cold  as  ice," 
she  added. 

"  Mad  girl !  "  exclaimed  Raphael. 

"  Why  that  tear  ?     Let  me  drink  it." 

"  O  Pauline,  Pauline,  you  love  me  far  too  much  !  " 

"  There  is  something  very  extraordinary  going  on  in  your 
mind,  Raphael  !  Do  not  dissimulate.  I  shall  very  soon  find 
out  your  secret.  Give  that  to  me,"  she  went  on,  taking  the 
Wild  Ass'  Skin. 


THE  AGONY.  215 

"You  are  my  executioner !"  the  young  man  exclaimed, 
glancing  in  horror  at  the  talisman. 

"How  changed  your  voice  is!"  cried  Pauline,  as  she 
dropped  the  fatal  symbol  of  destiny. 

"  Do  you  love  me?  "  he  asked. 

"  Do  I  love  you  ?     Is  there  any  doubt?  " 

"  Then  leave  me  ;  go  away  !  " 

The  poor  child  went. 

"So!  "  cried  Raphael,  when  he  was  alone.  "  In  an  en- 
lightened age,  when  we  have  found  out  that  diamonds  are  a 
crystallized  form  of  charcoal,  at  a  time  when  everything  is 
made  clear,  when  the  police  would  hail  a  new  Messiah  before 
the  magistrates,  and  submit  his  miracles  to  the  Academic  des 
Sciences — in  an  epoch  when  we  no  longer  believe  in  anything 
but  a  notary's  signature — that  I,  forsooth,  should  believe  in  a 
sort  of  Mene,  Tekel,  Upharsin  !  No,  by  heaven,  I  will  not 
believe  that  the  Supreme  Being  would  take  pleasure  in  tortur- 
ing a  harmless  creature — Let  us  see  the  learned  about  it." 

Between  the  Halle  des  Vins,  with  its  extensive  assembly  of 
barrels,  and  the  Salpetriere,  that  extensive  seminary  of  drunk- 
enness, lies  a  small  pond,  which  Raphael  soon  reached.  All 
sorts  of  ducks  of  rare  varieties  were  there  disporting  them- 
selves ;  their  colored  markings  shone  in  the  sun  like  the  glass 
in  cathedral  windows.  Every  kind  of  duck  in  the  world  was 
represented,  quacking,  dabbling,  and  moving  about — a  kind 
of  parliament  of  ducks  assembled  against  its  will,  but  luckily 
without  either  charter  or  political  principles,  living  in  com- 
plete immunity  from  sportsmen,  under  the  eyes  of  any  natur- 
alist that  chanced  to  see  them. 

"That  is  M.  Lavrille,"  said  one  of  the  keepers  to  Raphael, 
who  had  asked  for  that  high  priest  of  zoology. 

The  Marquis  saw  a  short  man  buried  in  protound  reflections, 
caused  by  the  appearance  of  a  pair  of  ducks.  The  man  of 
science  was  middle  aged  ;  he  had  a  pleasant  face,  made  pleas- 
anter  still  by  a  kindly  expression,  but  an  absorption  in  scien- 


216  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKTN. 

tific  ideas  engrossed  his  whole  person.  His  peruke  was 
strangely  turned  up,  by  being  constantly  raised  to  scratch  his 
head ;  so  that  a  line  of  white  hair  was  left  plainly  visible,  a 
witness  to  an  enthusiasm  for  investigation,  which,  like  every 
other  strong  passion,  so  withdraws  us  from  mundane  consid- 
erations, that  we  lose  all  consciousness  of  the  "  I  "  within  us. 
Raphael,  the  student  and  man  of  science,  looked  respectfully 
at  the  naturalist,  who  devoted  his  nights  to  enlarging  the 
limits  of  human  knowledge,  and  whose  very  errors  reflected 
glory  upon  France ;  but  a  she-coxcomb  would  have  laughed, 
no  doubt,  at  the  break  in  continuity  between  the  breeches  and 
striped  waistcoat  worn  by  the  man  of  learning ;  the  interval, 
moreover,  was  modestly  filled  by  a  shirt  which  had  been  con- 
siderably creased,  for  he  stooped  and  raised  himself  by  turns, 
as  his  zoological  observations  required. 

After  the  first  interchange  of  civilities,  Raphael  thought  it 
necessary  to  pay  M.  Lavrille  a  bland  compliment  upon  his 
ducks. 

"Oh,  we  are  well  off  for  ducks,"  the  naturalist  replied. 
"The  genus,  moreover,  as  you  doubtless  know,  is  the  most 
prolific  in  the  order  of  palmipeds.  It  begins  with  the  swan 
and  ends  with  the  zin-zin  duck,  comprising  in  all  one  hundred 
and  thirty-seven  very  distinct  varieties,  each  having  its  own 
name,  habits,  country,  and  character,  and  every  one  no  more 
like  another  than  a  white  man  is  like  a  negro.  Really,  sir, 
when  we  dine  off  a  duck,  we  have  no  notion  for  the  most  part 
of  the  vast  extent " 

"He  interrupted  himself  as  he  saw  a  small  pretty  duck 
come  up  to  the  surface  of  the  pound. 

"  There  you  see  the  cravatted  swan,  a  poor  native  of 
Canada  ;  he  has  come  a  very  long  way  to  show  us  his  brown 
and  gray  plumage  and  his  little  black  cravat !  Look,  he  is 
preening  himself.  That  one  is  the  famous  eider  duck  that 
provides  the  down,  the  eider-down  under  which  our  fine  ladies 
sleep;  isn't  it  pretty?  Who  wouldn't  admire  the  little  pink- 


THE  AGONY.  217 

ish  white  breast  and  the  green  beak?  I  have  just  been  a 
witness,  sir,"  he  went  on,  "to  a  marriage  that  I  had  long 
despaired  of  bringing  about ;  they  have  paired  rather  auspici- 
ously, and  I  shall  await  the  results  very  eagerly.  This  will  be 
a  hundred  and  thirty-eighth  species,  I  flatter  myself,  to  which, 
perhaps,  my  name  will  be  given.  That  is  the  newly-mated 
pair,"  he  said,  pointing  out  two  of  the  ducks  ;  "one  of  them 
is  a  laughing  goose  (anas  albifrons],  and  the  other  the  great 
whistling  duck,  Buffon's  anas  ruffina.  I  have  hesitated  a  long 
while  between  the  whistling  duck,  the  duck  with  white  eye- 
brows, and  the  shoveler  duck  (anas  clypeata).  Stay,  that  is 
the  shoveler — that  fat,  brownish-black  rascal,  with  the  green- 
ish neck  and  that  coquettish  iridescence  on  it.  But  the  whist- 
ling duck  was  a  crested  one,  sir,  and  you  will  understand  that 
I  deliberated  no  longer.  We  only  lack  the  variegated  black- 
capped  duck  now.  These  gentlemen  here,  unanimously  claim 
that  that  variety  of  duck  is  only  a  repetition  of  the  curve- 
beaked  teal,  but  for  my  own  part," — and  the  gesture  he  made 
was  worth  seeing.  He  expressed  at  once  the  modesty  and 
pride  of  a  man  of  science;  the  pride  full  of  obstinacy,  and  the 
modesty  well  tempered  with  assurance. 

"  I  don't  think  it  is,"  he  added.  "  You  see,  my  dear  sir, 
that  we  are  not  amusing  ourselves  here.  I  am  engaged  at  this 
moment  upon  a  monograph  on  the  genus  duck.  But  I  am  at 
your  disposal." 

While  they  went  towards  a  rather  pleasant  house  in  the 
Rue  de  Buffon,  Raphael  submitted  the  skin  to  M.  Lavrille's 
inspection. 

"  I  know  the  product,"  said  the  man  of  science,  when  he 
had  turned  his  magnifying  glass  upon  the  talisman.  "It 
used  to  be  used  for  covering  boxes.  The  shagreen  is  very  old. 
They  prefer  to  use  skate's  skin  nowadays  for  making  sheaths. 
This,  as  you  are  doubtless  aware,  is  the  hide  of  the  raja 
sephen,  a  Red  Sea  fish." 

"But  this,  sir,  since  you  are  so  exceedingly  good " 


218  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

"This,"  the  man  of  science  interrupted,  as  he  resumed, 
"  this  is  quite  another  thing ;  between  these  two  shagreens, 
sir,  there  is  a  difference  just  as  wide  as  between  sea  and  land, 
or  fish  and  flesh.  The  fish's  skin  is  harder,  however,  than  the 
skin  of  the  land  animal.  This,"  he  said,  as  he  indicated  the 
talisman,  "  is,  as  you  doubtless  know,  one  of  the  most  curious 
of  zoological  products." 

"  But  to  proceed "  said  Raphael. 

"  This,"  replied  the  man  of  science,  as  he  flung  himself 
down  into  his  armchair,  "  is  an  ass'  skin,  sir." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  said  the  young  man. 

"A  very  rare  variety  of  ass  is  found  in  Persia,"  the  natur- 
alist continued,  "  the  onager  of  the  ancients,  equusasinus,  the 
koulan  of  the  Tartars  ;  Pallas  went  out  there  to  observe  it, 
and  has  made  it  known  to  science,  for  as  a  matter  of  fact  the 
animal  for  a  long  time  was  believed  to  be  mythical.  It  is 
mentioned,  as  you  know,  in  Holy  Scripture;  Moses  forbade 
that  it  should  be  coupled  with  its  own  species,  and  the  onager 
is  yet  more  famous  for  the  prostitutions  of  which  it  was  the 
object,  and  which  are  often  mentioned  by  the  prophets  of  the 
Bible.  Pallas,  as  you  know  doubtless,  states  in  his  Act.  Petropy. , 
tome  II.,  that  these  bizarre  excesses  are  still  devoutly  believed 
in  among  the  Persians  and  the  Nogais  as  a  sovereign  remedy 
for  lumbago  and  sciatic  gout.  We  poor  Parisians  scarcely 
believe  that.  The  Museum  has  no  example  of  the  onager. 

"  What  a  magnificent  animal !  "  he  continued.  "  It  is  full 
of  mystery ;  its  eyes  are  provided  with  a  sort  of  burnished 
covering,  to  which  the  Orientals  attribute  the  powers  of  fasci- 
nation ;  it  has  a  glossier  and  finer  coat  than  our  handsomest 
horses  possess,  striped  with  more  or  less  tawny  bands,  very 
much  like  the  zebra's  hide.  There  is  something  pliant  and 
silky  about  its  hair,  which  is  sleek  to  the  touch.  Its  powers 
of  sight  vie  in  precision  and  accuracy  with  those  of  man ; 
it  is  rather  larger  than  our  largest  domestic  donkeys,  and 
is  possessed  of  extraordinary  courage.  If  it  is  surprised  by 


THE  AGONY.  219 

any  chance,  it  defends  itself  against  the  most  dangerous  wild 
beasts  with  remarkable  success;  the  rapidity  of  its  move- 
ments can  only  be  compared  with  the  flight  of  birds;  an 
onager,  sir,  would  run  the  best  Arab  or  Persian  horses  to 
death.  According  to  the  father  of  the  conscientious  Doctor 
Niebuhr,  whose  recent  loss  we  are  deploring,  as  you  doubt- 
less know,  the  ordinary  average  pace  of  one  of  these  won- 
derful creatures  would  be  seven  thousand  geometric  feet 
per  hour.  Our  own  degenerate  race  of  donkeys  can  give  no 
idea  of  the  ass  in  his  pride  and  independence.  He  is  active 
and  spirited  in  his  demeanor  ;  he  is  cunning  and  sagacious  ; 
there  is  grace  about  the  outlines  of  his  head ;  every  move- 
ment is  full  of  attractive  charm.  In  the  East  he  is  the  king 
of  beasts.  Turkish  aud  Persian  superstition  even  credits  him 
with  a  mysterious  origin  ;  and  when  stories  of  the  prowess 
attributed  to  him  are  told  in  Thibet  or  in  Tartary,  the 
speakers  mingle  Solomon's  name  with  that  of  this  noble 
animal.  A  tame  onager,  in  short,  is  worth  an  enormous 
amount ;  it  is  well-nigh  impossible  to  catch  them  among  the 
mountains,  where  they  leap  like  roe-bucks,  and  seem  as  if 
they  could  fly  like  birds.  Our  myth  of  the  winged  horse, 
our  Pegasus,  had  its  origin  doubtless  in  these  countries,  where 
the  shepherds  could  see  the  onager  springing  from  one  rock  to 
another.  In  Persia  they  breed  asses  for  the  saddle,  a  cross 
between  a  tamed  onager  and  a  she-ass,  and  they  paint  them 
red,  following  immemorial  tradition.  Perhaps  it  was  this 
custom  that  gave  rise  to  our  own  proverb,  '  Surly  as  a  red 
donkey.'  At  some  period  when  natural  history  was  much 
neglected  in  France,  I  think  a  traveler  must  have  brought 
over  one  of  these  strange  beasts  that  endures  servitude  with 
such  impatience.  Hence  the  adage.  The  skin  that  you  have 
lain  before  me  is  the  skin  of  an  onager.  Opinions  differ  as 
to  the  origin  of  the  name.  Some  claim  that  Chagri  is  a 
Turkish  word ;  others  insist  that  Chagri  must  be  the  name  of 
the  place  where  this  animal  product  underwent  the  chemical 


220  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

process  of  preparation  so  clearly  described  by  Pallas,  to 
which  the  peculiar  graining  that  we  admire  is  due ;  Martellens 
has  written  to  me  saying  that  Chaagri\&  a  river " 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,  for  the  information  that  you  have  given 
me  ;  it  would  furnish  an  admirable  footnote  for  some  Dom 
Calmet  or  other,  if  such  erudite  hermits  yet  exist;  but  I  have 
had  the  honor  of  pointing  out  to  you  that  this  scrap  was  in 
the  first  instance  quite  as  large  as  that  map,"  said  Raphael, 
indicating  an  open  atlas  to  Lavrille;  "but  it  has  shrunk 
visibly  in  three  months'  time ' 

"Quite  so,"  said  the  man  of  science.  "I  understand. 
The  remains  of  any  substance  primarily  organic  are  naturally 
subject  to  a  process  of  decay.  It  is  quite  easy  to  understand, 
and  its  progress  depends  upon  atmospherical  conditions. 
Even  metals  contract  and  expand  appreciably,  for  engineers 
have  remarked  somewhat  considerable  interstices  between 
great  blocks  of  stone  originally  clamped  together  with  iron 
bars.  The  field  of  science  is  boundless,  but  human  life  is 
very  short,  so  that  we  do  not  claim  to  be  acquainted  with 
all  the  phenomena  of  nature." 

"Pardon  the  question  that  I  am  about  to  ask  you,  sir," 
Raphael  began,  half-embarassed,  "  but  are  you  quite  sure  that 
this  piece  of  skin  is  subject  to  the  ordinary  laws  of  zoology, 
and  that  it  can  be  stretched  ?  " 

"Certainly oh,  bother!" muttered  M.  Lavrille, 

trying  to  stretch  the  talisman.  "  But  if  you,  sir,  will  go  to 
see  Planchette,"  he  added,  "the  celebrated  professor  of 
mechanics,  he  will  certainly  discover  some  method  of  acting 
upon  this  skin,  of  softening  and  expanding  it." 

"  Ah,  sir,  you  are  the  preserver  of  my  life,"  and  Raphael 
took  leave  of  the  learned  naturalist  and  hurried  off  to  Plan- 
chette, leaving  the  worthy  Lavrille  in  his  study,  all  among  the 
bottles  and  dried  plants  that  filled  it  up. 

Quite  unconsciously  Raphael  brought  away  with  him  from 
this  visit,  all  of  science  that  man  can  grasp,  and  terminology 


THE  AGONY.  221 

to  wit.  Lavrille,  the  worthy  man,  was  very  much  like  Sancho 
Panza  giving  to  Don  Quixote  the  history  of  the  goats  ;  he  was 
entertaining  himself  by  making  out  a  list  of  animals  and  tick- 
ing them  off.  Even  now  that  his  life  was  nearing  its  end,  he 
was  scarcely  acquainted  with  a  mere  fraction  of  the  countless 
numbers  of  the  great  tribes  that  God  has  scattered,  for  some 
unknown  end,  throughout  the  ocean  of  worlds. 

Raphael  was  well  pleased.  "I  shall  keep  my  ass  well  in 
hand,"  cried  he.  Sterne  had  said  before  his  day,  "Let  us 
take  care  of  our  ass,  if  we  wish  to  live  to  old  age."  But  it  is 
such  a  fantastic  brute  ! 

Planchette  was  a  tall,  thin  man,  a  poet  of  a  surety,  lost  in 
one  continual  thought,  and  always  employed  in  gazing  into 
the  bottomless  abyss  of  motion.  Commonplace  minds  accuse 
these  lofty  intellects  of  madness  ;  they  form  a  misinterpreted 
race  that  lives  apart  in  a  wonderful  carelessness  of  luxuries 
or  other  people's  notions.  They  will  spend  whole  days  at  a 
stretch,  smoking  a  cigar  that  has  gone  out,  and  enter  a  draw- 
ing-room with  the  buttons  on  their  garments  not  in  every  case 
formally  wedded  to  the  button-holes.  Some  day  or  other, 
after  a  longtime  spent  in  measuring  space,  or  in  accumulating 
Xs  under  Aa-Gg,  they  succeed  in  analyzing  some  natural  law, 
and  resolve  it  into  its  elemental  principles,  and  all  on  a  sud- 
den the  crowd  gapes  at  a  new  machine ;  or  it  is  a  handcart 
perhaps  that  overwhelms  us  with  astonishment  by  the  apt  sim- 
plicity of  its  construction.  The  modest  man  of  science 
smiles  at  his  admirers,  and  remarks,  "  What  is  that  invention 
of  mine?  Nothing  whatever.  Man  cannot  create  a  force; 
he  can  but  direct  it ;  and  science  consists  in  learning  from 
nature." 

The  mechanician  was  standing  bolt  upright,  planted  on 
both  feet,  like  some  victim  dropped  straight  from  the  gibbet, 
when  Raphael  broke  in  upon  him.  He  was  intently  watching 
an  agate  ball  that  rolled  over  a  sun-dial,  and  awaited  its  final 
settlement.  The  worthy  man  had  received  neither  pension  nor 
15 


222  THE    WILD  .4SS' 

decoration  ;  he  had  not  known  how  to  make  the  right  use  of  his 
ability  for  calculation.  He  was  happy  in  his  life  spent  on  the 
watch  for  a  discovery ;  he  had  no  thought  either  of  reputa- 
tion, of  the  outer  world,  nor  even  of  himself,  and  led  the 
life  of  science  for  the  sake  of  science. 

"It  is  inexplicable,"  he  exclaimed.  "Ah,  your  servant, 
sir,"  he  went  on,  becoming  aware  of  Raphael's  existence. 
"  How  is  your  mother  ?  You  must  go  and  see  my  wife." 

"  And  I  also  could  have  lived  thus,"  thought  Raphael,  as 
he  recalled  the  learned  man  from  his  meditations  by  asking 
of  him  how  to  produce  any  effect  on  the  talisman,  which  he 
placed  before  him. 

"  Although  my  credulity  must  amuse  you,  sir,"  so  the 
Marquis  ended,  "I  will  conceal  nothing  from  you.  That 
skin  seems  to  me  to  be  endowed  with  an  insuperable  power 
of  resistance." 

"  People  of  fashion,  sir,  always  treat  science  rather  super- 
ciliously," said  Planchette.  "They  all  talk  to  us  pretty 
much  as  the  incredulous  did  when  he  brought  some  ladies  to 
see  Lalande  just  after  an  eclipse,  and  remarked,  '  Be  so  good 
as  to  begin  it  over  again.'  What  effect  do  you  want  to  pro- 
duce? The  object  of  the  science  of  mechanics  is  either  the 
application  or  the  neutralization  of  the  laws  of  motion.  As 
for  motion  pure  and  simple,  I  tell  you  humbly,  that  we  cannot 
possibly  define  it.  That  disposed  of,  unvarying  phenomena 
have  been  observed  which  accompany  the  actions  of  solids 
and  fluids.  If  we  set  up  the  conditions  by  which  these  phe- 
nomena are  brought  to  pass,  we  can  transport  bodies  or  com- 
municate locomotive  power  to  them  at  a  predetermined  rate 
of  speed.  We  can  project  them,  divide  them  up  in  a  few  or 
an  infinite  number  of  pieces,  accordingly  as  we  break  them  or 
grind  them  to  powder  ;  we  can  twist  bodies  or  make  them 
rotate,  modify,  compress,  expand,  or  extend  them.  The 
whole  science,  sir,  rests  upon  a  single  fact. 

"You  see  this  ball,"  he  went  on;  "here  it  lies  upon  this 


THE  AGONY.  223 

slab.  Now,  it  is  over  there.  What  name  shall  we  give 
to  what  has  taken  place,  so  natural  from  a  physical  point 
of  view,  so  amazing  from  a  moral  ?  Movement,  loco- 
motion, changing  of  place?  What  prodigious  vanity  lurks 
underneath  the  words.  Does  a  name  solve  the  difficulty  ? 
Yet  it  is  the  whole  of  our  science  for  all  that.  Our  machines 
either  make  direct  use  of  this  agency,  this  fact,  or  they  con- 
vert it.  This  trifling  phenomenon,  applied  to  large  masses, 
would  send  Paris  flying.  We  can  increase  speed  by  an  expendi- 
ture of  force,  and  augment  the  force  by  an  increase  of  speed. 
But  what  are  speed  and  force  ?  Our  science  is  as  powerless  to 
tell  us  that  as  to  create  motion.  Any  movement  whatever  is 
an  immense  power,  and  man  does  not  create  power  of  any 
kind.  Everything  is  movement,  thought  itself  is  a  move- 
ment, upon  movement  nature  is  based.  Death  is  a  movement 
whose  limitations  are  little  known.  If  God  is  eternal,  be  sure 
that  He  moves  perpetually;  perhaps  God  is  movement.  That 
is  why  movement,  like  God,  is  inexplicable,  unfathomable,  un- 
limited, incomprehensible,  intangible.  Who  has  ever  touched, 
comprehended,  or  measured  movement  ?  We  feel  its  effects 
without  seeing  it ;  we  can  even  deny  them  as  we  can  deny 
the  existence  of  a  God.  Where  is  it?  Where  is  it  not? 
Whence  comes  it  ?  What  is  its  source  ?  What  is  its  end  ? 
It  surrounds  us,  it  intrudes  upon  us,  and  yet  escapes  us.  It  is 
evident  as  a  fact,  .obscure  as  an  abstraction  ;  it  is  at  once 
effect  and  cause.  It  requires  space,  even  as  we,  and  what  is 
space?  Movement  alone  recalls  it  to  us;  without  movement, 
space  is  but  an  empty  meaningless  word.  Like  space,  like 
creation,  like  the  infinite,  movement  is  an  insoluble  prob- 
lem which  confounds  human  reason  ;  man  will  never  conceive 
it,  whatever  else  he  may  be  permitted  to  conceive. 

"  Between  each  point  in  space  occupied  in  succession  by 
that  ball,"  continued  the  man  of  science,  "there  is  an  abyss 
confronting  human  reason,  an  abyss  into  which  Pascal  fell.  In 
order  to  produce  any  effect  upon  an  unknown  substance,  we 


224  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIAr. 

ought  first  of  all  to  study  that  substance ;  to  know  whether. 
in  accordance  with  its  nature,  it  will  be  broken  by  the  force 
of  a  blow,  or  whether  it  will  withstand  it ;  if  it  breaks  in 
pieces,  and  you  have  no  wish  to  split  it  up,  we  shall  not  achieve 
the  end  proposed.  If  you  want  to  compress  it,  a  uniform 
impulse  must  be  communicated  to  all  the  particles  of  the  sub- 
stance, so  as  to  diminish  the  interval  that  separates  them  in 
an  equal  degree.  If  you  wish  to  expand  it,  we  should  try  to 
bring  a  uniform  eccentric  force  to  bear  on  every  molecule ; 
for  unless  we  conform  accurately  to  this  law,  we  shall  have 
breaches  in  continuity.  The  modes  of  motion,  sir,  are  in- 
finite, and  no  limit  exists  to  combinations  of  movement. 
Upon  what  effect  have  you  determined?" 

"  I  want  any  kind  of  pressure  that  is  strong  enough  to 
expand  the  skin  indefinitely,"  began  Raphael,  quite  out  of 
patience. 

"Substance  is  finite,"  the  mathematician  put  in,  "and 
therefore  will  not  admit  of  indefinite  expansion,  but  pressure 
will  necessarily  increase  the  extent  of  surface  at  the  expense 
of  the  thickness,  which  will  be  diminished  until  the  point  is 
reached  when  the  material  gives  out 

"Bring  about  that  result,  sir,"  Raphael  cried,  "and  you 
will  have  earned  millions." 

"  Then  I  should  rob  you  of  your  money,"  replied  the  other, 
phlegmatic  as  a  Dutchman.  "  I  am  going  to  show  you,  in  a 
word  or  two,  that  a  machine  can  be  made  that  is  fit  to  crush 
Providence  itself  in  pieces  like  a  fly.  It  would  reduce  a  man 
to  the  condition  of  a  piece  of  wastepaper ;  a  man — boots 
and  spurs,  hat  and  cravat,  trinkets  and  gold  and  all " 

"  What  a  fearful  machine  !  " 

"  Instead  of  flinging  their  brats  into  the  water,  the  Chinese 
ought  to  make  them  useful  in  this  way,"  the  man  of  science 
went  on,  without  reflecting  on  the  regard  man  has  for  his 
progeny. 

Quite  absorbed  by  his  idea,  Planchette  took  an  empty  flower- 


THE   AGONY.  225 

pot,  with  a  hole  in  the  bottom,  and  put  it  on  the  surface  of 
the  dial,  then  he  went  to  look  for  a  little  clay  in  a  corner  of 
the  garden.  Raphael  stood  spellbound,  like  a  child  to  whom 
his  nurse  is  telling  some  wonderful  story.  Planchette  put  the 
clay  down  upon  the  slab,  drew  a  pruning-knife  from  his  pocket, 
cut  two  branches  from  an  elder  tree,  and  began  to  clear  them 
of  pith  by  blowing  through  them,  as  if  Raphael  had  not  been 
present. 

"There  are  the  rudiments  of  the  apparatus,"  he  said. 
Then  he  connected  one  of  the  wooden  pipes  with  the  bottom 
of  the  flower-pot  by  a  clay  joint,  in  such  a  way  that  the 
mouth  of  the  elder  stem  was  just  under  the  hole  of  the 
flower-pot ;  you  might  have  compared  it  to  a  big  tobacco- 
pipe.  He  spread  a  bed  of  clay  over  the  surface  of  the  slab, 
in  a  shovel-shaped  mass,  set  down  the  flower-pot  at  the  wider 
end  of  it,  and  laid  the  pipe  of  elder  stem  along  the  portion 
which  represented  the  handle  of  the  shovel.  Next  he  put  a 
lump  of  clay  at  the  end  of  the  elder  stem  and  therein  planted 
the  other  pipe,  in  an  upright  position,  forming  a  second  elbow 
which  connected  it  with  the  first  horizontal  pipe  in  such  a 
manner  that  the  air,  or  any  given  fluid  in  circulation,  could 
flow  through  this  improvised  piece  of  mechanism  from  the 
mouth  of  the  vertical  tube,  along  the  intermediate  passages, 
and  so  into  the  large  empty  flower-pot. 

"This  apparatus,  sir,"  he  said  to  Raphael,  with  all  the 
gravity  of  an  academician  pronouncing  his  initiatory  discourse, 
"is  one  of  the  great  Pascal's  grandest  claims  upon  our 
admiration." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

The  man  of  science  smiled.  He  went  up  to  a  fruit-tree  and 
took  down  a  little  phial  in  which  the  druggist  had  sent  him 
some  liquid  for  catching  ants ;  he  broke  off  the  bottom  and 
made  a  funnel  of  the  top,  carefully  fitting  it  to  the  mouth  of 
the  vertical  hollowed  stem  that  he  had  set  in  the  clay,  and  at 
the  opposite  end  to  the  great  reservoir,  represented  by  the 


226  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

flower-pot.  Next,  by  means  of  a  watering-pot,  he  poured 
in  sufficient  water  to  rise  to  the  same  level  in  the  large 
vessel  and  in  the  tiny  circular  funnel  at  the  end  of  the 
elder  stem. 

Raphael  was  thinking  of  his  piece  of  skin. 

"Water  is  considered  to-day,  sir,  to  be  an  incompressible 
body,"  said  the  mechanician;  "never  lose  sight  of  that 
fundamental  principle  ;  still  it  can  be  compressed,  though 
only  so  very  slightly  that  we  should  regard  its  faculty  for 
contracting  as  a  zero.  You  see  the  amount  of  surface  pre- 
sented by  the  water  at  the  brim  of  the  flower-pot?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Very  good  ;  now  suppose  that  that  surface  is  a  thousand 
times  larger  than  the  orifice  of  the  elder  stem  through  which 
I  poured  out  the  liquid.  Here,  I  am  taking  the  funnel 
away — 

"Granted." 

"  Well,  then,  if  by  any  method  whatever  I  increase  the  volume 
of  that  quantity  of  water  by  pouring  in  yet  more  through  the 
mouth  of  the  little  tube  ;  the  water  thus  compelled  to  flow 
downwards  would  rise  in  the  reservoir,  represented  by  the 
flower-pot,  until  it  reached  the  same  level  at  either  end." 

"  That  is  quite  clear,"  cried  Raphael. 

"But  there  is  this  difference,"  the  other  went  on.  "Suppose 
that  the  thin  column  of  water  poured  into  the  little  vertical 
tube  there  exerts  a  force  equal,  say,  to  a  pound  weight,  for 
instance,  its  action  will  be  punctually  communicated  to  the 
great  body  of  the  liquid,  and  will  be  transmitted  to  every 
part  of  the  surface  represented  by  the  water  in  the  flower-pot, 
so  that  at  the  surface  there  will  be  a  thousand  columns  of 
water,  every  one  pressing  upwards  as  if  they  were  impelled  by 
a  force  equal  to  that  which  compels  the  liquid  to  descend  in 
the  vertical  tube;  and  of  necessity  they  reproduce  here," 
said  Planchette,  indicating  to  Raphael  the  top  of  the  flower- 
pot, "the  force  introduced  over  there,  a  thousandfold,  "and 


THE  AGONY.  227 

the  man  of  science  pointed  out  to  the  Marquis  the  upright 
wooden  pipe  set  in  the  clay. 

"  That  is  quite  simple,"  said  Raphael. 

Planchette  smiled  again. 

"In  other  words,"  he  went  on,  with  the  mathematician's 
natural  stubborn  propensity  for  logic,  "  in  order  to  resist  the 
force  of  the  incoming  water,  it  would  be  necessary  to  exert, 
upon  every  part  of  the  large  surface,  a  force  equal  to  that 
brought  into  action  in  the  vertical  column,  but  with  this 
difference — if  the  column  of  liquid  is  a  foot  in  height,  the 
thousand  little  columns  of  the  wide  surface  will  only  have  a 
very  slight  elevating  power. 

"  Now,"  said  Planchette,  as  he  gave  a  fillip  to  his  bits  of 
stick,  "  let  us  replace  this  funny  little  apparatus  by  steel  tubes 
of  suitable  strength  and  dimensions;  and  if  you  cover  the 
liquid  surface  of  the  reservoir  with  a  strong  sliding  plate  of 
metal,  and  if  to  this  metal  plate  you  oppose  another,  solid 
enough  and  strong  enough  to  resist  any  test,  if,  furthermore, 
you  give  me  the  power  of  continually  adding  water  to  the 
volume  of  liquid  contents  by  means  of  the  little  vertical  tube, 
the  object  fixed  between  the  two  solid  metal  plates  must  of 
necessity  yield  to  the  tremendous  crushing  force  which  in- 
definitely compresses  it.  The  method  of  continually  pouring 
in  water  through  a  little  tube,  like  the  manner  of  communica- 
ting force  through  the  volume  of  the  liquid  to  a  metal  plate, 
is  an  absurdly  primitive  mechanical  device.  A  brace  of 
pistons  and  a  few  valves  would  do  it  all.  Do  you  perceive, 
my  dear  sir,"  he  said,  taking  Valentin  by  the  arm,  "there  is 
scarcely  a  substance  in  existence  that  would  not  be  compelled 
to  dilate  when  fixed  in  between  these  two  indefinitely  resisting 
surfaces  ? ' ' 

"  What  t  the  author  of  the  Lettres  provinciates  invented 
it?"  Raphael  exclaimed. 

"  He  and  no  other,  sir.  The  science  of  mechanics  knows 
no  simpler  nor  more  beautiful  contrivance.  The  opposite 


228  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

principle,  the  capacity  of  expansion  possessed  by  water, 
has  brought  the  steam-engine  into  being.  But  water  will 
only  expand  up  to  a  certain  point,  while  its  incompressibility, 
being  a  force  in  a  manner  negative,  is,  of  necessity, 
infinite." 

"If  this  skin  is  expanded,"  said  Raphael,  "I  promise  you 
to  erect  a  colossal  statue  to  Blaise  Pascal ;  to  found  a  prize  of 
a  hundred  thousand  francs  to  be  offered  every  ten  years  for 
the  solution  of  the  grandest  problem  of  mechanical  science 
effected  during  the  interval ;  to  find  dowries  for  all  your 
cousins  and  second  cousins,  and  finally  to  build  an  asylum  on 
purpose  for  impoverished  or  insane  mathematicians." 

"That  would  be  exceedingly  useful,"  Planchette  replied. 
"We  will  go  to  Spieghalter  to-morrow,  sir,"  he  continued, 
with  the  serenity  of  a  man  living  on  a  plane  wholly  intellect- 
ual. "  That  distinguished  mechanic  has  just  completed,  after 
my  own  designs,  an  improved  mechanical  arrangement  by 
which  a  child  could  get  a  thousand  trusses  of  hay  inside  his 
cap." 

"Then  good-bye  till  to-morrow." 

"  Till  to-morrow,  sir." 

"Talk  of  mechanics!"  cried  Raphael;  "isn't  it  the 
greatest  of  the  sciences  ?  The  other  fellow  with  his  onagers, 
classifications,  ducks,  and  species,  and  his  phials  full  of  bottled 
monstrosities,  is  at  best  only  fit  for  a  billiard-marker  in  a 
saloon." 

The  next  morning  Raphael  went  off  in  great  spirits  to  find 
Planchette,  and  together  they  set  out  for  the  Rue  de  la  Sant6 
— auspicious  appellation  !  Arrived  at  Spieghalter's,  the  young 
man  found  himself  in  a  vast  foundry ;  his  eyes  lighted  upon  a 
multitude  of  glowing  and  roaring  furnaces.  There  was  a 
storm  of  sparks,  a  deluge  of  nails,  an  ocean  of  pistons,  vices, 
levers,  valves,  girders,  files,  and  nuts ;  a  sea  of  melted  metal, 
balks  of  timber  and  bar-steel.  Iron  filings  filled  your  throat. 
There  was  iron  in  the  atmosphere ;  the  men  were  covered 


THE  AGONY.  229 

with  it ;  everything  reeked  of  iron.  The  iron  seemed  to  be  a 
living  organism  ;  it  became  a  fluid,  moved,  and  seemed  to 
shape  itself  intelligently  after  every  fashion,  to  obey  the 
worker's  every  caprice.  Through  the  uproar  made  by  the 
bellows,  the  crescendo  of  the  falling  hammers,  and  the  shrill 
sounds  of  the  lathes  that  drew  groans  from  the  steel,  Raphael 
passed  into  a  large,  clean,  and  airy  place  where  he  was  able 
to  inspect  at  his  leisure  the  great  press  that  Planchette  had 
told  him  about.  He  admired  the  cast-iron  beams,  as  one 
might  call  them,  and  the  twin  bars  of  steel  coupled  together 
with  indestructible  bolts. 

"If  you  were  to  give  seven  rapid  turns  to  that  crank," 
said  Spieghalter,  pointing  out  a  beam  of  polished  steel,  "you 
would  make  a  steel  bar  spurt  out  in  thousands  of  jets,  that 
would  get  into  your  legs  like  needles." 

"  The  deuce,"  exclaimed  Raphael. 

Planchette  himself  slipped  the  piece  of  skin  between  the 
metal  plates  of  the  all-powerful  press;  and,  brimful  of  the 
certainty  of  a  scientific  conviction,  he  worked  the  crank  ener- 
getically. 

"Lie  flat,  all  of  you;  we  are  dead  men!"  thundered 
Spieghalter,  as  he  himself  fell  prone  on  the  floor. 

A  hideous  shrieking  sound  rang  through  the  workshops. 
The  water  in  the  machine  had  broken  the  chamber,  and  now 
spouted  out  in  a  jet  of  incalculable  force ;  luckily  it  went  in 
the  direction  of  an  old  furnace,  which  was  overthrown, 
knocked  to  pieces,  and  twisted  like  a  house  that  has  been 
enveloped  and  carried  away  by  a  waterspout. 

"  Ha  !  "  remarked  Planchette  serenely,  "  the  piece  of  skin 
is  as  safe  and  sound  as  my  eye.  There  was  a  flaw  in  your 
reservoir  somewhere,  or  a  crevice  in  the  large  tube " 

"  No,  no ;  I  know  my  reservoir.  The  devil  is  in  your 
contrivance,  sir;  you  can  take  it  away,"  and  the  German 
pounced  upon  a  smith's  hammer,  flung  the  skin  down  on  an 
anvil,  and,  with  all  the  strength  that  rage  gives,  dealt  the 


230  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

talisman  the  most  formidable  blow  that  had  ever  resounded 
through  his  workshops. 

"  There  is  not  so  much  as  a  mark  on  it !  "  said  Planchette, 
stroking  the  perverse  bit  of  skin. 

The  workmen  hurried  in.  The  foreman  took  the  skin  and 
buried  it  in  the  glowing  coal  of  a  forge,  while,  in  a  semicircle 
round  the  fire,  they  all  awaited  the  action  of  a  huge  pair  of 
bellows.  Raphael,  Spieghalter,  and  Professor  Planchette 
stood  in  the  midst  of  the  grimy,  expectant  crowd.  Raphael, 
looking  round  on  faces  dusted  over  with  iron  filings,  white 
eyes,  greasy,  blackened  clothing,  and  hairy  chests,  could 
have  fancied  himself  transported  into  the  wild  nocturnal 
world  of  German  ballad  poetry.  After  the  skin  had  been 
in  the  fire  for  ten  minutes,  the  foreman  pulled  it  out  with 
a  pair  of  pincers. 

"  Hand  it  over  to  me,"  said  Raphael. 

The  foreman  held  it  out  by  way  of  a  joke.  The  Marquis 
readily  handled  it ;  it  was  cool  and  flexible  between  his 
fingers.  An  exclamation  of  alarm  went  up  ;  the  workmen 
fled  in  terror.  Valentin  was  left  alone  with  Planchette  in 
the  empty  workshop. 

"There  is  certainly  something  infernal  in  the  thing!" 
cried  Raphael,  in  desperation.  "Is  no  human  power  able 
to  give  me  one  day  more  of  existence?" 

"I  made  a  mistake,  sir,"  said  the  mathematician,  with 
a  penitent  expression  ;  "  we  ought  to  have  subjected  that 
peculiar  skin  to  the  action  of  a  rolling  machine.  Where 
could  my  eyes  have  been  when  I  suggested  the  use  of  com- 
pression?" 

"It  was  I  that  asked  for  it,"  Raphael  answered. 

The  mathematician  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief,  like  a  culprit 
acquitted  by  a  dozen  jurors.  Still,  the  strange  problem 
afforded  by  the  skin  interested  him ;  he  meditated  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  remarked — 

"  This  unknown  material  ought  to  be  treated  chemically 


THE  AGONY.  231 

by  reagents.  Let  us  call  on  Japhet — perhaps  the  chemist 
may  have  better  luck  than  the  mechanic." 

Valentin  thereupon  urged  his  horse  into  a  rapid  trot, 
hoping  to  find  the  chemist,  the  celebrated  Japhet,  in  his 
laboratory. 

"Well,  old  friend,"  Planchette  began,  seeing  Japhet  in 
his  armchair,  examining  a  precipitate;  "how  goes  chem- 
istry?" 

"Gone  to  sleep.  Nothing  new  at  all.  The  Academic, 
however,  has  recognized  the  existence  of  salicine,  but  sali- 
cine,  asparagine,  vanqueline,  and  digitaline  are  not  really 
discoveries ' ' 

"Since  you  cannot  invent  substances,"  said  Raphael, 
"  you  are  obliged  to  fall  back  on  inventing  names." 

"  Most  emphatically  true,  young  man." 

"Here,"  said  Planchette,  addressing  the  chemist,  "try  to 
analyze  this  composition ;  if  you  can  extract  any  element 
whatever  from  it,  I  christen  it  diaboline  beforehand,  for  we 
have  just  smashed  a  hydraulic  press  in  trying  to  compress  it." 

"Let's  see!  let's  have  a  look  at  it!"  cried  the  delighted 
chemist;  "it  may,  perhaps,  be  a  fresh  element." 

"It  is  simply  a  piece  of  the  skin  of  an  ass,  sir,"  said 
Raphael. 

"  Sir !  "  said  the  illustrious  chemist  sternly. 

"  I  am  not  joking,"  the  Marquis  answered,  laying  the  piece 
of  skin  before  him. 

Baron  Japhet  applied  the  nervous  fibres  of  his  tongue  to 
the  skin ;  he  had  skill  in  thus  detecting  salts,  acids,  alkalis, 
and  gases.  After  several  experiments,  he  remarked — 

"  No  taste  whatever  !  Come,  we  will  give  it  a  little  fluoric 
acid  to  drink." 

Subjected  to  the  influence  of  this  ready  solvent  of  animal 
tissue,  the  skin  underwent  no  change  whatsoever. 

"  It  is  not  shagreen  at  all !"  the  chemist  cried.  "  We  will 
treat  this  unknown  mystery  as  a  mineral,  and  try  its  mettle  by 


232  THE    WILD  ASS    SKIN. 

dropping  it  in  a  crucible  where  I  have  at  this  moment  some 
red  potash." 

Japhet  went  out,  and  returned  almost  immediately. 

"Allow  me  to  cut  away  a  bit  of  this  strange  substance,  sir," 
he  said  to  Raphael ;  "  it  is  so  extraordinary " 

"A  bit !  "  exclaimed  Raphael;  "not  so  much  as  a  hair's- 
breadth.  You  may  try  though,"  he  added  half-banteringly, 
half-sadly. 

The  chemist  broke  a  razor  in  his  desire  to  cut  the  skin ;  he 
tried  to  break  it  by  a  powerful  electric  shock ;  next  he  sub- 
mitted it  to  the  influence  of  a  galvanic  battery ;  but  all  the 
thunderbolts  his  science  wotted  of  fell  harmless  on  the  dread- 
ful talisman. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening.  Planchette,  Japhet, 
and  Raphael,  unaware  of  the  flight  of  time,  were  awaiting  the 
outcome  of  a  final  experiment.  The  Wild  Ass'  Skin  emerged 
triumphant  from  a  formidable  encounter  in  which  it  had  been 
engaged  with  a  considerable  quantity  of  chloride  of  nitrogen. 

" It  is  all  over  with  me,"  Raphael  wailed.  "It  is  the  finger 

of  God?  I  shall  die! "and  he  left  the  two  amazed 

scientific  men. 

"We  must  be  very  careful  not  to  talk  about  this  affair  at 
the  Academic;  our  colleagues  there  would  laugh  at  us," 
Planchette  remarked  to  the  chemist,  after  a  long  pause,  in 
which  they  looked  at  each  other  without  daring  to  communi- 
cate their  thoughts.  The  learned  pair  looked  like  two  Chris- 
tians who  had  issued  from  their  tombs  to  find  no  God  in  the 
heavens.  Science  had  been  powerless ;  acids  so  much  clear 
water ;  red  potash  had  been  discredited  ;  the  galvanic  battery 
and  electric  shock  had  been  a  couple  of  playthings. 

"A  hydraulic  press  broken  like  a  biscuit!"  commented 
Planchette. 

"I  believe  in  the  devil,"  said  the  Baron  Japhet,  after  a 
moment's  silence. 

"And  I  in  God,"  replied  Planchette. 


THE  AGONY.  233 

Each  spoke  in  character.  The  universe  for  a  mechanician 
is  a  machine  that  requires  an  operator;  for  chemistry — that 
fiendish  employment  of  decomposing  all  things — the  world  is 
a  gas  endowed  with  the  power  of  movement. 

"We  cannot  deny  the  fact,"  the  chemist  replied. 

"Pshaw!  those  gentlemen  the  doctrinaires  have  invented  a 
nebulous  aphorism  for  our  consolation — '  Stupid  as  a  fact.'  ' 

"Your  aphorism,"  said  the  chemist,  "seems  to  me  as  a 
fact  very  stupid." 

They  began  to  laugh,  and  went  off  to  dine  like  folk  for 
whom  a  miracle  is  nothing  more  than  a  phenomenon. 

Valentin  reached  his  own  house  shivering  with  rage  and 
consumed  with  anger.  He  had  no  more  faith  in  anything. 
Conflicting  thoughts  shifted  and  surged  to  and  fro  in  his  brain, 
as  is  the  case  with  every  man  brought  face  to  face  with  an  in- 
conceivable fact.  He  had  readily  believed  in  some  hidden 
flaw  in  Spieghalter's  apparatus ;  he  had  not  been  surprised  by 
the  incompetence  and  failure  of  science  and  of  fire ;  but  the 
flexibility  of  the  skin  as  he  handled  it,  taken  with  its  stubborn- 
ness when  all  the  means  of  destruction  that  man  possesses  had 
been  brought  to  bear  upon  it  in  vain — these  things  terrified 
him.  The  incontrovertible  fact  made  him  dizzy. 

"I  am  mad,"  he  muttered.  "I  have  had  no  food  since 
the  morning,  and  yet  I  am  neither  hungry  nor  thirsty,  and 
there  is  a  fire  in  my  breast  that  burns  me." 

He  put  back  the  skin  in  the  frame  where  it  had  been  en- 
closed but  lately,  drew  a  line  in  red  ink  about  the  actual  con- 
figuration of  the  talisman,  and  seated  himself  in  his  armchair. 

"Eight  o'clock  already!"  he  exclaimed.  "To-day  has 
gone  like  a  dream." 

He  leaned  his  elbow  on  the  arm  of  the  chair,  propped  his 
head  with  his  left  hand,  and  so  remained,  lost  in  secret  dark 
reflections  and  consuming  thoughts  that  men  condemned  to 
die  bear  away  with  them. 

"O  Pauline!  "  he  cried.     "Poor  child!  there  are  gulfs 


234  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

that  love  can  never  traverse,  despite  the  strength  of  his  wings." 
Just  then  he  very  distinctly  heard  a  smothered  sigh,  and 
knew  by  one  of  the  most  tender  privileges  of  passionate  love 
that  it  was  Pauline's  breathing. 

"That  is  my  death  warrant,"  he  said  to  himself.  "  If  she 
were  there,  I  should  wish  to  die  in  her  arms." 

A  burst  of  gleeful  and  heavy  laughter  made  him  turn  his 
face  towards  the  bed  ;  he  saw  Pauline's  face  through  the 
transparent  curtains,  smiling  like  a  child  for  gladness  over  a 
successful  piece  of  mischief.  Her  pretty  hair  fell  over  her 
shoulders  in  countless  curls  ;  she  looked  like  a  Bengal  rose 
upon  a  pile  of  white  roses. 

"I  cajoled  Jonathan,"  said  she.  "Doesn't  the  bed  be- 
long to  me,  to  me  who  am  your  wife?  Don't  scold  me,  dar- 
ling; I  only  wanted  to  surprise  you,  to  sleep  beside  you. 
Forgive  me  for  my  freak." 

She  sprang  out  of  bed  like  a  kitten,  showed  herself  gleaming 
in  her  lawn  raiment,  and  sat  down  on  Raphael's  knee. 

"  Love,  what  gulf  were  you  talking  about  ?  "  she  said,  with 
an  anxious  expression  apparent  upon  her  face. 

"Death." 

"  You  hurt  me,"  she  answered.  "  There  are  some  thoughts 
upon  which  we,  poor  women  that  we  are,  cannot  dwell ;  they 
are  death  to  us.  Is  it  strength  of  love  in  us,  or  lack  of  cour- 
age ?  I  cannot  tell.  Death  does  not  frighten  me,"  she  be- 
gan again,  laughingly.  "To  die  with  you,  both  together, 
to-morrow  morning,  in  one  last  embrace,  would  be  joy.  It 
seems  to  me  that  even  then  I  should  have  lived  more  than  a 
hundred  years.  What  does  the  number  of  days  matter  if  we 
have  spent  a  whole  lifetime  of  peace  and  love  in  one  night,  in 
one  hour?  " 

"You  are  right;  Heaven  is  speaking  through  that  pretty 
mouth  of  yours.  Grant  that  I  may  kiss  you,  and  let  us  die," 
said  Raphael. 

"  Then  let  us  die,"  she  said,  laughing. 


THE  AGONY.  235 

Towards  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  the  daylight  streamed 
through  the  chinks  of  the  window  shutters.  Obscured  some- 
what by  the  muslin  curtains,  it  yet  sufficed  to  show  clearly  the 
rich  colors  of  the  carpet,  the  silks  and  furniture  of  the  room, 
where  the  two  lovers  were  lying  asleep.  The  gilding  sparkled 
here  and  there.  A  ray  of  sunlight  fell  and  faded  upon  the 
soft  down  quilt  that  the  freaks  of  love  had  thrown  to  the 
floor.  The  outlines  of  Pauline's  dress,  hanging  from  a 
cheval  glass,  appeared  like  a  shadowy  ghost.  Her  dainty 
shoes  had  been  left  at  a  distance  from  the  bed.  A  nightin- 
gale came  to  perch  upon  the  sill ;  its  trills  repeated  over 
again,  and  the  sounds  of  its  wings  suddenly  shaken  out  for 
flight,  awoke  Raphael. 

"For  me  to  die,"  he  said,  following  out  a  thought  begun 
in  his  dream,  "  my  organization,  the  mechanism  of  flesh  and 
bone,  that  is  quickened  by  the  will  in  me,  and  makes  of  me 
an  individual  man,  must  display  some  perceptible  disease. 
Doctors  ought  to  understand  the  symptoms  of  any  attack  on 
vitality,  and  could  tell  me  whether  I  am  sick  or  sound." 

He  gazed  at  his  sleeping  wife.  She  had  stretched  her  head 
out  to  him,  expressing  in  this  way  even  while  she  slept  the 
anxious  tenderness  of  love.  Pauline  seemed  to  look  at  him 
as  she  lay  with  her  face  turned  towards  him  in  an  attitude  as 
full  of  grace  as  a  young  child's,  with  her  pretty,  half-opened 
mouth  held  out  towards  him,  as  she  drew  her  light,  even 
breath.  Her  little  pearly  teeth  seemed  to  heighten  the  red- 
ness of  the  fresh  lips  with  the  smile  hovering  over  them. 
The  red  glow  in  her  complexion  was  brighter,  and  its  white- 
ness was,  so  to  speak,  whiter  still  just  then  than  in  the  most 
impassioned  moments  of  the  waking  day.  In  her  uncon- 
strained grace,  as  she  lay,  so  full  of  believing  trust,  the  ador- 
able attractions  of  childhood  were  added  to  the  enchantments 
of  love. 

Even  the  most  unaffected  women  still  obey  certain  social 
conventions,  which  restrain  the  free  expansion  of  the  soul 


236  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN. 

within  them  during  their  waking  hours  ;  but  slumber  seems  to 
give  them  back  the  spontaneity  of  life  which  makes  infancy 
lovely.  Pauline  blushed  for  nothing ;  she  was  like  one  of 
those  beloved  and  heavenly  beings,  in  whom  reason  has  not 
yet  put  motives  into  their  actions  and  mystery  into  their 
glances.  Her  profile  stood  out  in  sharp  relief  against  the 
fine  cambric  of  the  pillows  ;  there  was  a  certain  sprightliness 
about  her  loose  hair  in  confusion,  mingled  with  the  deep  lace 
ruffles  ',  but  she  was  sleeping  in  happiness,  her  long  lashes 
were  tightly  pressed  against  her  cheeks,  as  if  to  secure  her 
eyes  from  too  strong  a  light,  or  to  aid  an  effort  of  her  soul  to 
recollect  and  to  hold  fast  a  bliss  that  had  been  perfect  but 
fleeting.  Her  tiny  pink  and  white  ear,  framed  by  a  lock 
of  her  hair  and  outlined  by  a  wrapping  of  Mechlin  lace, 
would  have  made  an  artist,  a  painter,  an  old  man,  wildly 
in  love,  and  would  perhaps  have  restored  a  madman  to  his 
senses. 

Is  it  not  an  ineffable  bliss  to  behold  the  woman  that  you 
love,  sleeping,  smiling  in  a  peaceful  dream  beneath  your  pro- 
tection, loving  you  even  in  dreams,  even  at  the  point  where 
the  individual  seems  to  cease  to  exist,  offering  to  you  yet  the 
mute  lips  that  speak  to  you  in  slumber  of  the  latest  kiss  ?  Is 
it  not  indescribable  happiness  to  see  a  trusting  woman,  half- 
clad,  but  wrapped  round  in  her  love  as  by  a  cloak — modesty 
in  the  midst  of  dishevelment — to  see  admiringly  her  scattered 
clothing,  the  silken  stocking  hastily  put  off  to  please  you  last 
evening,  the  unclasped  girdle  that  implies  a  boundless  faith  in 
you.  A  whole  romance  lies  there  in  that  girdle  ;  the  woman 
that  it  used  to  protect  exists  no  longer  ;  she  is  yours,  she  has 
become  you ;  henceforward  any  betrayal  of  her  is  a  blow 
dealt  at  yourself. 

In  this  softened  mood  Raphael's  eyes  wandered  over  the 
room,  now  filled  with  memories  and  love,  and  where  the  very 
daylight  seemed  to  take  delightful  hues.  Then  he  turned  his 
gaze  at  last  upon  the  outlines  of  the  woman's  form,  upon 


THE  AGONY.  237 

youth  and  purity,  and  love  that  even  now  had  no  thought  that 
was  not  for  him  alone,  above  all  things,  and  longed  to  live 
for  ever.  As  his  eyes  fell  upon  Pauline,  her  own  opened  at 
once  as  if  a  ray  of  sunlight  had  lighted  on  them. 

"Good  morning,"  she  said,  smiling.  "How  handsome 
you  are,  bad  man  !  " 

The  grace  of  love  and  youth,  of  silence  and  dawn,  shone  in 
their  faces,  making  a  divine  picture,  with  the  fleeting  spell 
over  it  all  that  belongs  only  to  the  earliest  days  of  passion, 
just  as  simplicity  and  artlessness  are  the  peculiar  possession  of 
childhood.  Alas  !  love's  springtide  joys,  like  our  own  youth- 
ful laughter,  must  even  take  flight,  and  live  for  us  no  longer 
save  in  memory  ;  either  for  our  despair,  or  to  shed  some 
soothing  fragrance  over  us,  according  to  the  bent  of  our 
inmost  thoughts. 

"What  made  me  wake  you?"  said  Raphael.  "It  was 
so  great  a  pleasure  to  watch  you  sleeping  that  it  brought 
tears  to  my  eyes." 

"And  to  mine,  too,"  she  answered.  "I  cried  in  the 
night  while  I  watched  you  sleeping,  but  not  with  happi- 
ness. Raphael,  dear,  pray  listen  to  me.  Your  breathing  is 
labored  while  you  sleep,  and  something  rattles  in  your  chest 
that  frightens  me.  You  have  a  little  dry  cough  when  you 
are  asleep,  exactly  like  my  father's,  who  is  dying  of  phthisis. 
In  those  sounds  from  your  lungs  I  recognized  some  of  the 
peculiar  symptoms  of  that  complaint.  Then  you  are  fever- 
ish ;  I  know  you  are,  your  hand  was  moist  and  burning 

Darling,  you  are  young,"  she  added  with  a  shudder,  "and 

you  could  still  get  over  it  if  unfortunately But,  no," 

she  cried  cheerfully,  "  there  is  no  '  unfortunately,'  the  dis- 
ease is  contagious,  so  the  doctors  say." 

She  flung  both  arms  about  Raphael,  drawing  in  his  breath 
through  one  of  those  kisses  in  which  the  soul  reaches  its 
end. 

"I  do  not  wish  to  live  to  old  age,"  she  said.  "Let  us 
16 


238  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

both  die  young,  and  go  to  heaven  while  flowers  fill  our 
hands." 

"  We  always  make  such  designs  as  those  when  we  are  well 
and  strong,"  Raphael  replied,  burying  his  hands  in  Pauline's 
hair.  But  even  then  a  horrible  fit  of  coughing  came  on,  one 
of  those  deep  ominous  coughs  that  seem  to  come  from  the 
depths  of  the  tomb,  a  cough  that  leaves  the  sufferer  ghastly 
pale,  trembling,  and  perspiring  ;  with  aching  sides  and  quiver- 
ing nerves,  with  a  feeling  of  weariness  pervading  the  very 
marrow  of  the  spine,  and  unspeakable  languor  in  every  vein. 
Raphael  slowly  laid  himself  down,  pale,  exhausted,  and  over- 
come, like  a  man  who  has  spent  all  the  strength  in  him  over 
one  final  effort.  Pauline's  eyes,  grown  large  with  terror,  were 
fixed  upon  him  ;  she  lay  quite  motionless,  pale,  and  silent. 

"Let  us  commit  no  more  follies,  my  angel,"  she  said,  try- 
ing not  to  let  Raphael  see  the  dreadful  forebodings  that  dis- 
turbed her.  She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands,  for  she  saw 
death  before  her — the  hideous  skeleton.  Raphael's  face  had 
grown  as  pale  and  livid  as  any  skull  unearthed  from  a  church- 
yard to  assist  the  studies  of  some  scientific  man.  Pauline 
remembered  the  exclamation  that  had  escaped  from  Valentin 
the  previous  evening,  and  to  herself  she  said — 

"Yes,  there  are  gulfs  that  love  can  never  cross,  and  therein 
love  must  bury  itself." 

On  a  March  morning,  some  days  after  this  wretched  scene, 
Raphael  found  himself  seated  in  an  armchair,  placed  in  the 
window  in  the  full  light  of  day.  Four  doctors  stood  round 
him,  each  in  turn  trying  his  pulse,  feeling  him  over,  and 
questioning  him  with  apparent  interest.  The  invalid  sought 
to  guess  their  thoughts,  putting  a  construction  on  every  move- 
ment they  made,  and  on  the  slightest  contraction  of  their 
brows.  His  last  hope  lay  in  this  consultation.  This  court 
of  appeal  was  about  to  pronounce  its  decision — life  or  death. 

Valentin  had  summoned  the  oracles  of  modern  medicine, 
so  that  he  might  have  the  last  word  of  science.  Thanks  to  his 


THE  AGONY.  239 

wealth  and  title,  there  stood  before  him  three  embodied 
theories  ;  human  knowledge  fluctuated  round  the  three  points. 
Three  of  the  doctors  brought  among  them  the  complete  circle 
of  medical  philosophy;  they  represented  the  points  of  con- 
flict round  which  the  battle  raged,  between  spiritualism, 
analysis,  and  goodness  knows  what  in  the  way  of  mocking 
eclecticism. 

The  fourth  doctor  was  Horace  Bianchon,  a  man  of  science 
with  a  future  before  him,  the  most  distinguished  man  of  the 
new  school  in  medicine,  a  discreet  and  unassuming  repre- 
sentative of  a  studious  generation  that  is  preparing  to  receive 
the  inheritance  of  fifty  years  of  experience  treasured  up  by 
the  Ecole  de  Paris,  a  generation  that  perhaps  will  erect  the 
monument  for  the  building  of  which  the  centuries  behind  us 
have  collected  the  different  materials.  As  a  personal  friend 
of  the  Marquis  and  of  Rastignac,  he  had  been  in  attendance 
on  the  former  for  some  days  past,  and  was  helping  him  to 
answer  the  inquiries  of  the  three  professors,  occasionally 
insisting  somewhat  upon  those  symptoms  which,  in  his  opinion, 
pointed  to  pulmonary  disease. 

"  You  have  been  living  at  a  great  pace,  leading  a  dissipated 
life,  no  doubt,  and  you  have  devoted  yourself  largely  to  in- 
tellectual work?"  queried  one  of  the  three  celebrated  authori- 
ties, addressing  Raphael.  He  was  a  square-headed  man,  with 
a  large  frame  and  energetic  organization,  which  seemed  to 
mark  him  as  superior  to  his  two  rivals. 

"  I  made  up  my  mind  to  kill  myself  with  debauchery,  after 
spending  three  years  over  an  extensive  work,  with  which  per- 
haps you  may  some  day  occupy  yourselves,"  Raphael  replied. 

The  great  doctor  shook  his  head,  and  so  displayed  his  satis- 
faction. "  I  was  sure  of  it,"  he  seemed  to  say  to  himself.  He 
was  the  illustrious  Brisset,  the  successor  of  Cabanis  and  Bichat, 
head  of  the  Organic  School,  a  doctor  popular  with  believers 
in  material  and  positive  science,  who  see  in  man  a  complete 
individual,  subject  solely  to  the  laws  of  his  own  particular 


240  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

organization ;  and  who  consider  that  his  normal  condition 
and  abnormal  states  of  disease  can  both  be  traced  to  obvious 
causes. 

After  this  reply,  Brisset  looked,  without  speaking,  at  a 
middle-sized  person,  whose  darkly  flushed  countenance  and 
glowing  eyes  seemed  to  belong  to  some  antique  satyr ,  and 
who,  leaning  his  back  against  the  corner  of  the  embrasure, 
was  studying  Raphael,  without  saying  a  word.  Doctor  Came- 
ristus,  a  man  of  creeds  and  enthusiasms,  the  head  of  the 
"  Vitalists,"  a  romantic  champion  of  the  esoteric  doctrines 
of  Van  Helmont,  discerned  a  lofty  informing  principle  in 
human  life,  a  mysterious  and  inexplicable  phenomenon  which 
mocks  at  the  scalpel,  deceives  the  surgeon,  eludes  the  drugs 
of  the  pharmacopoeia,  the  formulae  of  algebra,  the  demonstra- 
tions of  anatomy,  and  derides  all  our  efforts ;  a  sort  of  invisi- 
ble, intangible  flame,  which,  obeying  some  divinely  appointed 
law,  will  often  linger  on  in  a  body  in  our  opinion  devoted  to 
death,  while  it  takes  flight  from  an  organization  well  fitted 
for  prolonged  existence. 

A  bitter  smile  hovered  upon  the  lips  of  the  third  doctor, 
Maugredie,  a  man  of  acknowledged  ability,  but  a  Pyrrhonist 
and  a  scoffer,  with  the  scalpel  for  his  one  article  of  faith.  He 
would  consider,  as  a  concession  to  Brisset,  that  a  man  who,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  was  perfectly  well  was  dead,  and  recognize 
with  Cam6ristus  that  a  man  might  be  living  on  after  his  ap- 
parent demise.  He  found  something  sensible  in  every  theory, 
and  embraced  none  of  them,  claiming  that  the  best  of  all 
systems  of  medicine  was  to  have  none  at  all,  and  to  stick  to 
the  facts.  This  Panurge  of  the  Clinical  Schools,  the  king  of 
observers,  the  great  investigator,  great  sceptic,  the  man  of 
desperate  expedients,  was  scrutinizing  the  Wild  Ass'  Skin. 

"I  should  very  much  like  to  be  a  witness  of  the  coinci- 
dence of  its  retrenchment  with  your  wish,"  he  said  to  the 
Marquis. 

"Where  is  the  use?"  cried  Brisset. 


THE  AGONY.  241 

"  Where  is  the  use  ?  "  echoed  Cameristus. 

"Ah,  you  are  both  of  the  same  mind,"  replied  Maugredie. 

"The  contraction  is  perfectly  simple,"  Brisset  went  on. 

"  It  is  supernatural,"  remarked  Cameristus. 

"In  short,"  Maugredie  made  answer,  with  affected  so- 
lemnity, and  handing  the  piece  of  skin  to  Raphael  as  he  spoke, 
"  the  shriveling  faculty  of  the  skin  is  a  fact  inexplicable,  and 
yet  quite  natural,  which,  ever  since  the  world  began,  has  been 
the  despair  of  medicine  and  of  pretty  women. 

All  Valentin's  observation  could  discover  no  trace  of  a 
feeling  for  his  troubles  in  any  of  the  three  doctors.  The  three 
received  every  answer  in  silence,  scanned  him  unconcernedly, 
and  interrogated  him  unsympathetically.  Politeness  did  not 
conceal  their  indifference ;  whether  deliberation  or  certainty 
was  the  cause,  their  words  at  any  rate  came  so  seldom  and  so 
languidly,  that  at  times  Raphael  thought  that  their  attention 
was  wandering.  From  time  to  time  Brisset,  the  sole  speaker, 
remarked,  "  Good!  just  so!"  as  Bianchon  pointed  out  the 
existence  of  each  desperate  symptom.  Cameristus  seemed 
to  be  deep  in  meditation ;  Maugredie  looked  like  a  comic 
author,  studying  two  queer  characters  with  a  view  to  repro- 
ducing them  faithfully  upon  the  stage.  There  was  deep,  un- 
concealed distress  and  grave  compassion  in  Horace  Bianchon's 
face.  He  had  been  a  doctor  for  too  short  a  time  to  be  un- 
touched by  suffering  and  unmoved  by  a  deathbed  ;  he  had  not 
learned  to  keep  back  the  sympathetic  tears  that  obscure  a 
man's  clear  vision  and  prevent  him  from  seizing,  like  the 
general  of  an  army,  upon  the  auspicious  moment  for  victory, 
in  utter  disregard  of  the  groans  of  dying  men. 

After  spending  about  half  an  hour  over  taking  in  some  sort 
the  measure  of  the  patient  and  the  complaint,  much  as  a  tailor 
measures  a  young  man  for  a  coat  when  he  orders  his  wedding 
outfit,  the  authorities  uttered  several  commonplaces,  and  even 
talked  of  politics.  Then  they  decided  to  go  into  Raphael's 
study  to  exchange  their  ideas  and  frame  their  verdict. 


242  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

"May  I  not  be  present  during  the  discussion,  gentlemen?" 
Valentin  had  asked  them,  but  Brisset  and  Maugredie  protested 
against  this,  and,  in  spite  of  their  patient's  entreaties,  declined 
altogether  to  deliberate  in  his  presence. 

Raphael  gave  way  before  their  custom,  thinking  that  he 
could  slip  into  a  passage  adjoining,  whence  he  could  easily 
overhear  the  medical  conference  in  which  the  three  professors 
were  about  to  engage. 

"Permit  me,  gentlemen,"  said  Brisset,  as  they  entered, 
"to  give  you  my  own  opinion  at  once.  I  neither  wish  to 
force  it  upon  you  nor  to  have  it  discussed.  In  the  first  place, 
it  is  unbiased,  concise,  and  based  on  an  exact  similarity  that 
exists  between  one  of  my  own  patients  and  the  subject  that  we 
have  been  called  in  to  examine;  and,  moreover,  I  am  ex- 
pected at  my  hospital.  The  importance  of  the  case  that  de- 
mands my  presence  there  will  excuse  me  for  speaking  the  first 
word.  The  subject  with  which  we  are  concerned  has  been 
exhausted  in  an  equal  degree  by  intellectual  labors — what  did 
he  set  about,  Horace?"  he  asked  of  the  young  doctor. 

"A  'Theory  of  the  Will.' " 

"  The  devil !  but  that's  a  big  subject.  He  is  exhausted,  I 
say,  by  too  much  brain-work,  by  irregular  courses,  and  by  the 
repeated  use  of  too  powerful  stimulants.  Violent  exertion  of 
body  and  mind  has  demoralized  the  whole  system.  It  is 
easy,  gentlemen,  to  recognize  in  the  symptoms  of  the  face  and 
body  generally  intense  irritation  of  the  stomach,  an  affection 
of  the  great  sympathetic  nerve,  acute  sensibility  of  the  epigas- 
tric region,  and  contraction  of  the  right  and  left  hypochon- 
driac. You  have  noticed,  too,  the  large  size  and  prominence 
of  the  liver.  M.  Bianchon  has,  besides,  constantly  watched 
the  patient,  and  he  tells  us  that  indigestion  is  troublesome  and 
difficult.  Strictly  speaking,  there  is  no  stomach  left,  and  so 
the  man  has  disappeared.  The  brain  is  atrophied  because  the 
man  digests  no  longer.  The  progressive  deterioration  wrought 
in  the  epigastric  region,  the  seat  of  vitality,  has  vitiated  the 


THE  AGOi\Y.  243 

whole  system.  Thence,  by  continued  fevered  vibrations,  the 
disorder  has  reached  the  brain  by  means  of  the  nervous  plexus, 
hence  the  excessive  irritation  in  that  organ.  There  is  mono- 
mania. The  patient  is  burdened  with  a  fixed  idea.  That 
piece  of  skin  really  contracts,  to  his  way  of  thinking  ;  very 
likely  it  always  has  been  as  we  have  seen  it ;  but  whether 
it  contracts  or  no,  that  thing  is  for  him  just  like  the  fly  that 
some  Grand  Vizier  or  other  had  on  his  nose.  If  you  put 
leeches  at  once  on  the  epigastrium,  and  reduce  the  irritation 
in  that  part,  which  is  the  very  seat  of  man's  life,  and  if  you 
diet  the  patient,  the  monomania  will  leave  him.  I  will  say 
no  more  to  Dr.  Bianchon  ;  he  should  be  able  to  grasp  the 
whole  treatment  as  well  as  the  details.  There  nuy  be,  per- 
haps, some  complication  of  the  disease — the  bronchial  tubes, 
possibly,  may  be  also  inflamed ;  but,  I  believe,  that  treatment 
for  the  intestinal  organs  is  very  much  more  important  and 
necessary,  and  more  urgently  required  than  for  the  lungs. 
Persistent  study  of  abstract  matters  and  certain  violent  pas- 
sions have  induced  serious  disorders  in  that  vital  mechanism. 
However,  we  are  in  time  to  set  these  conditions  right.  Noth- 
ing is  too  seriously  affected.  You  will  easily  get  your  friend 
round  again,"  he  remarked  to  Bianchon. 

"  Our  learned  colleague  is  taking  the  effect  for  the  cause," 
Cameristus  replied.  "  Yes,  the  changes  that  he  has  observed 
so  keenly  certainly  exist  in  the  patient ;  but  it  is  not  the 
stomach  that,  by  degrees,  has  set  up  nervous  action  in  the 
system,  and  so  affected  the  brain,  like  a  hole  in  a  window- 
pane  spreading  cracks  round  about  it.  It  took  a  blow  of 
some  kind  to  make  a  hole  in  the  window  ;  who  gave  the 
blow?  Do  we  know  that  ?  Have  we  investigated  the  patient's 
case  sufficiently?  Are  we  acquainted  with  all  the  events  of 
his  life  ? 

"The  vital  principle,  gentlemen,"  he  continued,  "the 
Archeus  of  Van  Helmont,  is  affected  in  his  case — the  very 
essence  and  centre  of  life  is  attacked.  The  divine  spark,  the 


244  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

transitory  intelligence  which  holds  the  organism  together, 
which  is  the  source  of  the  will,  the  inspiration  of  life,  has 
ceased  to  regulate  the  daily  phenomena  of  the  mechanism  and 
the  functions  of  every  organ  ;  thence  arise  all  the  complica- 
tions which  my  learned  colleague  has  so  thoroughly  appre- 
ciated. The  epigastric  region  does  not  affect  the  brain,  but 
the  brain  affects  the  epigastric  region.  No,"  he  went  on, 
vigorously  slapping  his  chest,  "  no,  I  am  not  a  stomach  in  the 
form  of  a  man.  No,  everything  does  not  lie  there.  I  do  not 
feel  that  I  have  the  courage  to  say  that  if  the  epigastric  region 

is  in  good  order,  everything  else  is  in  a  like  condition 

"We  cannot  trace,"  he  went  on  more  mildly,  "to  one 
physical  cause  the  serious  disturbances  that  supervene  in  this 
or  that  subject  which  has  been  dangerously  attacked,  nor  sub- 
mit them  to  a  uniform  treatment.  No  one  man  is  like 
another.  We  have  each  peculiar  organs,  differently  affected, 
diversely  nourished,  adapted  to  perform  different  functions, 
and  to  induce  a  condition  necessary  to  the  accomplishment 
of  an  order  of  things  which  is  unknown  to  us.  The  sublime 
will  has  so  wrought  that  a  little  portion  of  the  great  All  is  set 
within  us  to  sustain  the  phenomena  of  living  ;  in  every  man 
it  formulates  itself  distinctly,  making  each,  to  all  appearance, 
a  separate  individual,  yet  in  one  point  coexistent  with  the 
infinite  cause.  So  we  ought  to  make  a  separate  study  of  each 
subject,  discover  all  about  it,  find  out  in  what  its  life  consists, 
and  wherein  its  power  lies.  From  the  softness  of  a  wet 
sponge  to  the  hardness  of  pumice-stone  there  are  infinite  fine 
degrees  of  difference.  Man  is  just  like  that.  Between  the 
sponge-like  organizations  of  the  lymphatic  and  the  vigorous 
iron  muscles  of  such  men  as  are  destined  for  a  long  life,  what 
a  margin  for  errors  for  the  single  inflexible  system  of  a  lower- 
ing treatment  to  commit ;  a  system  that  reduces  the  capacities 
of  the  human  frame,  which  you  always  conclude  have  been 
over-excited.  Let  us  look  for  the  origin  of  the  disease  in  the 
mental  and  not  in  the  physical  viscera.  A  doctor  is  an 


THE  AGONY.  245 

inspired  being,  endowed  by  God  with  a  special  gift— the 
power  to  read  the  secrets  of  vitality ;  just  as  the  prophet  has 
received  the  eyes  that  foresee  the  future,  the  poet  his  faculty 
of  evoking  nature,  and  the  musician  the  power  of  arranging 
sounds  in  an  harmonious  order  that  is  possibly  a  copy  of  an 
ideal  harmony  on  high." 

"  There  is  his  everlasting  system  of  medicine,  arbitrary, 
monarchical,  and  pious,"  muttered  Brisset. 

"  Gentlemen,"  Maugredie  broke  in  hastily,  to  distract 
attention  from  Brisset's  comment,  "  don't  let  us  lose  sight  of 
the  patient." 

"What  is  the  good  of  science?"  Raphael  moaned. 
"  Here  is  my  recovery  halting  between  a  string  of  beads  and 
a  rosary  of  leeches,  between  Dupuytren's  bistoury  and  Prince 
Hohenlohe's  prayer.  There  is  Maugredie  suspending  his  judg- 
ment on  the  line  that  divides  facts  from  words,  mind  from 
matter.  Man's  '  it  is,'  '  and  it  is  not,'  is  always  on  my  track; 
it  is  the  Carymary  Carymara  of  Rabelais  for  evermore  :  my  dis- 
order is  spiritual,  Carymary,  or  material,  Carymara.  Shall  I 
live?  They  have  no  idea.  Planchette  was  more  straight- 
forward with  me,  at  any  rate,  when  he  said,  '  I  do  not  know.' 

Just  then  Valentin  heard  Maugredie's  voice. 

"The  patient  suffers  from  monomania;  very  good,  I  am 
quite  of  that  opinion,"  he  said,  "but  he  has  two  hundred 
thousand  a  year  ;  monomaniacs  of  that  kind  are  very  un- 
common. As  for  knowing  whether  his  epigastric  region  has 
affected  his  brain,  or  his  brain  his  epigastric  region,  we  shall 
find  that  out,  perhaps,  whenever  he  dies.  But  to  resume. 
There  is  no  disputing  the  fact  that  he  is  ill ;  some  sort  of  treat- 
ment he  must  have.  Let  us  leave  theories  alone,  and  put 
leeches  on  him,  tocounteract  the  nervous  and  intestinal  irrita- 
tion, as  to  the  existence  of  which  we  all  agree ;  and  let  us 
send  him  to  drink  the  waters,  in  that  way  we  shall  act  on 
both  systems  at  once.  If  there  really  is  tubercular  disease, 
we  can  hardly  expect  to  save  his  life ;  so  that " 


246  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

Raphael  abruptly  left  the  passage,  and  went  back  to  his 
armchair.  The  four  doctors  very  soon  came  out  of  the  study  ; 
Horace  was  the  spokesman. 

"These  gentlemen,"  he  told  him,  ''have  unanimously 
agreed  that  leeches  must  be  applied  to  the  stomach  at  once, 
and  that  both  physical  and  moral  treatment  are  imperatively 
needed.  In  the  first  place,  a  carefully  prescribed  rule  of  diet, 
so  as  to  soothe  the  internal  irritation  " — here  Brisset  signified 
his  approval ;  "  and  in  the  second,  a  hygienic  regimen,  to  set 
your  general  condition  right.  We  all,  therefore,  recommend 
you  to  go  to  take  the  waters  at  Aix  in  Savoy  ;  or,  if  you  like 
it  better,  at  Mont  Dore  in  Auvergne ;  the  air  and  the  situa- 
tion are  both  pleasanter  in  Savoy  than  in  the  Cantal,  but  you 
will  consult  your  own  taste." 

Here  it  was  Cameristus  who  nodded  assent. 

"  These  gentlemen,"  Bianchon  continued,  "  having  recog- 
nized a  slight  affection  of  the  respiratory  organs,  are  agreed 
as  to  the  utility  of  the  previous  course  of  treatment  that  I 
have  prescribed.  They  think  that  there  will  be  no  difficulty 
about  restoring  you  to  health,  and  that  everything  depends 
upon  a  wise  and  alternate  employment  of  these  various  means. 
And " 

"  And  that  is  the  cause  of  the  milk  in  the  cocoanut," 
said  Raphael,  with  a  smile,  as  he  led  Horace  into  his  study 
to  pay  the  fees  for  this  useless  consultation. 

"Their  conclusions  are  logical,"  the  young  doctor  replied. 
"  Cameristus  feels,  Brisset  examines,  Maugredie  doubts.  Has 
not  a  man  a  soul,  a  body,  and  an  intelligence?  One  of  these 
three  elemental  constituents  always  influences  us  more  or  less 
strongly ;  there  will  always  be  the  personal  element  in  human 
science.  Believe  me,  Raphael,  we  effect  no  cures  ;  we  only 
assist  them.  Another  system — the  use  of  mild  remedies  while 
nature  exerts  her  powers — lies  between  the  extremes  of  theory 
of  Brisset  and  Cameristus,  but  one  ought  to  have  known  the 
patient  for  some  ten  years  or  so  to  obtain  a  good  result  on 


THE  AGONY.  247 

these  lines.  Negation  lies  at  the  back  of  all  medicine,  as  in 
every  other  science.  So  endeavor  to  live  wholesomely ;  try 
a  trip  to  Savoy  ;  the  best  course  is,  and  always  will  be,  to 
trust  to  nature." 

It  was  a  month  later,  on  a  fine  summer-like  evening,  that 
several  people,  who  were  taking  the  waters  at  Aix,  returned 
from  the  promenade  and  met  together  in  the  salons  of  the  Club. 
Raphael  remained  alone  by  a  window  for  a  long  time.  His 
back  was  turned  upon  the  gathering,  and  he  himself  was  deep 
in  those  involuntary  musings  in  which  thoughts  arise  in  suc- 
cession and  fadeaway,  shaping  themselves  indistinctly,  passing 
over  us  like  thin,  almost  colorless  clouds.  Melancholy  is 
sweet  to  us  then,  and  delight  is  shadowy,  for  the  soul  is  half- 
asleep.  Valentin  gave  himself  up  to  this  life  of  sensations; 
he  was  steeping  himself  in  the  warm,  soft  twilight,  enjoying 
the  pure  air  with  the  scent  of  the  hills  in  it,  happy  in  that  he 
felt  no  pain,  and  had  tranquillized  his  threatening  Wild  Ass' 
Skin  at  last.  It  grew  cooler  as  the  red  glow  of  the  sunset 
faded  on  the  mountain-peaks ;  he  shut  the  window  and  left 
his  place. 

"Will  you  be  so  kind  as  not  to  close  the  windows,  sir?" 
said  an  old  lady ;  "we  are  being  stifled " 

The  peculiar  sharp  and  jarring  tones  in  which  the  phrase 
was  uttered  grated  on  Raphael's  ears ;  it  fell  on  them  like  an 
indiscreet  remark  let  slip  by  some  man  in  whose  friendship  we 
would  fain  believe,  a  word  which  reveals  unsuspected  depths 
of  selfishness  and  destroys  some  pleasing  sentimental  illusion 
of  ours.  The  Marquis  glanced,  with  the  cool  inscrutable  ex- 
pression of  a  diplomatist,  at  the  old  lady,  called  a  servant, 
and,  when  he  came,  curtly  bade  him 

"Open  that  window." 

Great  surprise  was  clearly  expressed  on  all  faces  at  the 
words.  The  whole  roomful  began  to  whisper  to  each  other, 
and  turned  their  eyes  upon  the  invalid,  as  though  he  had  given 
some  serious  offence.  Raphael,  who  had  never  quite  managed 


248  THE    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

to  rid  himself  of  the  bashfulness  of  his  early  youth,  felt  a 
momentary  confusion  ;  then  he  shook  off  his  torpor,  exerted 
his  faculties,  and  asked  himself  the  meaning  of  this  strange 
scene. 

A  sudden  and  rapid  impulse  quickened  his  brain  ;  the  past 
weeks  appeared  before  him  in  a  clear  and  definite  vision;  the 
reasons  for  the  feelings  he  inspired  in  others  stood  out  for  him 
in  relief,  like  the  veins  of  some  corpse  which  a  naturalist,  by 
some  cunningly  contrived  injection,  has  colored  so  as  to  show 
their  least  ramifications. 

He  discerned  himself  in  this  fleeting  picture ;  he  followed 
out  his  own  life  in  it,  thought  by  thought,  day  after  day.  He 
saw  himself,  not  without  astonishment,  an  absent  gloomy 
figure  in  the  midst  of  these  lively  folk,  always  musing  over  his 
own  fate,  always  absorbed  by  his  own  sufferings,  seemingly 
impatient  of  the  most  harmless  chat.  He  saw  how  he  had 
shunned  the  ephemeral  intimacies  that  travelers  are  so  ready 
to  establish — no  doubt  because  they  feel  sure  of  never  meet- 
ing each  other  again — and  how  he  had  taken  little  heed  of 
those  about  him.  He  saw  himself  like  the  rocks  without, 
unmoved  by  the  caresses  or  the  stormy  surgings  of  the  waves. 

Then,  by  a  gift  of  insight  seldom  accorded,  he  read  the 
thoughts  of  those  about  him.  The  light  of  a  candle  revealed 
the  sardonic  profile  and  yellow  cranium  of  an  old  man  ;  he 
remembered  now  that  he  had  won  from  him,  and  had  never 
proposed  that  the  other  should  have  his  revenge ;  a  little 
further  on  he  saw  a  pretty  woman,  whose  lively  advances  he 
had  met  with  frigid  coolness ;  there  was  not  a  face  there  that 
did  not  reproach  him  with  some  wrong  done,  inexplicably  to 
all  appearance,  but  the  real  offence  in  every  case  lay  in  some 
mortification,  some  invisible  hurt  dealt  to  self-love.  He  had 
unintentionally  jarred  on  all  the  small  susceptibilities  of  the 
circle  round  about  him. 

His  guests  on  various  occasions,  and  those  to  whom  he  had 
loaned  his  horses,  had  taken  offence  at  his  luxurious  ways ; 


THE  AGONY.  249 

their  ungraciousness  had  been  a  surprise  to  him  ;  he  had 
spared  them  further  humiliation  of  that  kind,  and  they  had 
considered  that  he  looked  down  upon  them,  and  had  accused 
him  of  haughtiness  ever  since.  He  could  read  their  inmost 
thoughts  as  he  fathomed  their  natures  in  this  way.  Society 
with  its  polish  and  varnish  grew  loathsome  to  him.  He  was 
envied  and  hated  for  his  wealth  and  superior  ability ;  his 
reserve  baffled  the  inquisitive ;  his  humility  seemed  like 
haughtiness  to  these  petty  superficial  natures.  He  guessed  the 
secret  unpardonable  crime  which  he  had  committed  against 
them  ;  he  had  overstepped  the  limits  of  the  jurisdiction  of 
their  mediocrity.  He  had  resisted  their  inquisitorial  tyranny  ; 
he  could  dispense  with  their  society;  and  all  of  them,  there- 
fore, had  instinctively  combined  to  make  him  feel  their  power, 
and  to  take  revenge  upon  this  incipient  royalty  by  submitting 
him  to  a  kind  of  ostracism,  and  so  teaching  him  that  they  in 
their  turn  could  do  without  him. 

Pity  came  over  him,  first  of  all,  at  this  aspect  of  mankind, 
but  very  soon  he  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  the  power  that 
came  thus,  at  will,  and  flung  aside  for  him  the  veil  of  flesh 
under  which  the  moral  nature  is  hidden  away.  He  closed  his 
eyes,  so  as  to  see  no  more.  A  black  curtain  was  drawn  all  at 
once  over  this  unlucky  phantom  show  of  truth ;  but  still  he 
found  himself  in  the  terrible  loneliness  that  surrounds  every 
power  and  dominion.  Just  then  a  violent  fit  of  coughing  seized 
him.  Far  from  receiving  one  single  word — indifferent  and 
meaningless,  it  is  true,  but  still  containing,  among  well-bred 
people  brought  together  by  chance,  at  least,  some  pretence 
of  civil  commiseration — he  now  heard  hostile  ejaculations  and 
muttered  complaints.  Society  there  assembled  disdained  any 
pantomime  on  his  account,  perhaps  because  he  had  gauged  its 
real  nature  too  well. 

"His  complaint  is  contagious." 

"  The  president  of  the  club  ought  to  forbid  him  to  enter 
the  salon." 


250  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN. 

"It  is  contrary  to  all  rules  and  regulations  to  cough  in  that 
way  !  " 

"When  a  man  is  as  ill  as  that,  he  ought  not  to  come  to 
take  the  waters ' 

"  He  will  drive  me  away  from  the  place." 

Raphael  rose  and  walked  about  the  room  to  screen  himself 
from  their  unanimous  execrations.  He  thought  to  find  a 
shelter,  and  went  up  to  a  young  lady  who  sat  doing  nothing, 
minded  to  address  some  pretty  speeches  to  her ;  but  as  he 
came  towards  her,  she  turned  her  back  upon  him,  and  pre- 
tended to  be  watching  the  dancers.  Raphael  feared  lest  he 
might  have  made  use  of  the  talisman  already  that  evening ; 
and  feeling  that  he  had  neither  the  wish  nor  the  courage  to 
break  into  the  conversation,  he  left  the  salon  and  took  refuge 
in  the  billiard-room.  No  one  there  greeted  him,  nobody 
spoke  to  him,  no  one  sent  so  much  as  a  friendly  glance  in  his 
direction.  His  turn  of  mind,  naturally  meditative,  had  dis- 
covered instinctively  the  general  grounds  and  reasons  for  the 
aversions  he  inspired.  This  little  world  was  obeying,  uncon- 
sciously perhaps,  the  sovereign  law  which  rules  over  polite 
society ;  its  inexorable  nature  was  becoming  apparent  in  its 
entirety  to  Raphael's  eyes.  A  glance  into  the  past  showed  it 
to  him,  as  a  type  completely  realized  in  Fcedora. 

He  would  no  more  meet  with  sympathy  here  for  his  bodily 
ills  than  he  had  received  it  at  her  hands  for  the  distress  in  his 
heart.  The  fashionable  world  expels  every  suffering  creature 
from  its  midst,  just  as  the  body  of  a  man  in  robust  health 
rejects  any  germ  of  disease.  The  world  holds  suffering  and 
misfortune  in  abhorrence ;  it  dreads  them  like  the  plague ; 
it  never  hesitates  between  vice  and  trouble,  for  vice  is  a 
luxury.  Ill-fortune  may  possess  a  majesty  of  its  own,  but 
society  can  belittle  it  and  make  it  ridiculous  by  an  epigram. 
Society  draws  caricatures,  and  in  this  way  flings  in  the  teeth 
of  fallen  kings  the  affronts  which  it  fancies  it  has  received 
from  them ;  society,  like  the  Roman  youth  at  the  circus,  never 


THE  AGONY.  251 

shows  mercy  to  the  fallen  gladiator ;  mockery  and  money  are 
its  vital  necessities.  "Death  to  the  weak!"  That  is  the 
oath  taken  by  this  kind  of  equestrian  order,  instituted  in  their 
midst  by  all  the  nations  of  the  world  ;  everywhere  it  makes 
for  the  elevation  of  the  rich,  and  its  motto  is  deeply  graven 
in  hearts  that  wealth  has  turned  to  stone,  or  that  have  been 
reared  in  aristocratic  prejudices. 

Assemble  a  collection  of  school-boys  together.  That  will 
give  you  a  society  in  miniature,  a  miniature  which  represents 
life  more  truly,  because  it  is  so  frank  and  artless ;  and  in  it 
you  will  always  find  poor  isolated  beings,  relegated  to  some 
place  in  the  general  estimation  between  pity  and  contempt, 
on  account  of  their  weakness  and  suffering.  To  these  the 
Evangel  promises  heaven  hereafter.  Go  lower  yet  in  the 
scale  of  organized  creation.  If  some  bird  among  its  fellows 
in  the  court-yard  sickens,  the  others  fall  upon  it  with  their 
beaks,  pluck  out  its  feathers,  and  kill  it.  The  whole  world, 
in  accordance  with  its  charter  of  egotism,  brings  all  its 
severity  to  bear  upon  wretchedness  that  has  the  hardihood  to 
spoil  its  festivities,  and  to  trouble  its  joys. 

Any  sufferer  in  mind  or  body,  any  helpless  or  poor  man, 
is  a  pariah.  He  had  better  remain  in  his  solitude ;  if  he 
crosses  the  boundary-line,  he  will  find  winter  everywhere  ; 
he  will  find  freezing  cold  in  other  men's  looks,  manners, 
words,  and  hearts ;  and  lucky  indeed  is  he  if  he  does  not 
receive  an  insult  where  he  expected  that  sympathy  would  be 
expended  upon  him.  Let  the  dying  keep  to  their  bed  of 
neglect,  and  age  sit  lonely  by  its  fireside.  Portionless  maids, 
freeze  and  burn  in  your  solitary  attics.  If  the  world  tolerates 
misery  of  any  kind,  it  is  to  turn  it  to  account  for  its  own  pur- 
poses, to  make  some  use  of  it,  saddle  and  bridle  it,  put  a  bit 
in  its  mouth,  ride  it  about,  and  get  some  fun  out  of  it. 

Crotchety  spinsters,  ladies'  companions,  put  a  cheerful  face 
upon  it,  endure  the  humors  of  your  so-called  benefactress, 
carry  her  lapdogs  for  her ;  you  have  an  English  poodle  for 


252  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

your  rival,  and  you  must  seek  to  understand  the  moods  of 
your  patroness,  and  amuse  her,  and — keep  silence  about  your- 
selves. As  for  you,  unblushing  parasite,  uncrowned  king  of 
unliveried  servants,  leave  your  real  character  at  home,  let 
your  digestion  keep  pace  with  your  host's,  laugh  when  he 
laughs,  mingle  your  tears  with  his,  and  find  his  epigrams 
amusing ;  if  you  want  to  relieve  your  mind  about  him,  wait 
till  he  is  ruined.  That  is  the  way  the  world  shows  its  respect 
for  the  unfortunate  ;  it  persecutes  them,  or  slays  them  ;  it 
deprives  them  of  their  manhood,  or  humbles  them  in  the 
dust. 

Such  thoughts  as  these  welled  up  in  Raphael's  heart  with 
the  suddenness  of  poetic  inspiration.  He  looked  around 
him,  and  felt  the  influence  of  the  forbidding  gloom  that 
society  breathes  out  in  order  to  rid  itself  of  the  unfortunate ; 
it  nipped  his  soul  more  effectually  than  the  east  wind  grips  the 
body  in  December.  He  locked  his  arms  over  his  chest,  set 
his  back  against  the  wall,  and  fell  into  a  deep  melancholy. 
He  mused  upon  the  meagre  happiness  that  this  depressing  way 
of  living  can  give.  What  did  it  amount  to?  Amusement 
with  no  pleasure  in  it,  gaiety  without  gladness,  joyless 
festivity,  fevered  dreams  empty  of  all  delight,  firewood  or 
ashes  on  the  hearth  without  a  spark  of  flame  in  them. 
When  he  raised  his  head  he  found  himself  alone,  all  the 
billiard  players  had  gone. 

"  I  have  only  to  let  them  know  my  power  to  make  them 
worship  my  coughing  fits,"  he  said  to  himself,  and  wrapped 
himself  against  the  world  in  the  cloak  of  his  contempt. 

Next  day  the  resident  doctor  came  to  call  upon  him,  and 
took  an  anxious  interest  in  his  health.  Raphael  felt  a  thrill 
of  joy  at  the  friendly  words  addressed  to  him.  The  doctor's 
face,  to  his  thinking,  wore  an  expression  that  was  kind  and 
pleasant ;  the  pale  curls  of  his  wig  seemed  redolent  of  philan- 
thropy ;  the  square  cut  of  his  coat,  the  loose  folds  of  his 
trousers,  his  big  Quaker-like  shoes,  everything  about  him 


THE  AGONY.  253 

down  to  the  powder  shaken  from  his  queue  and  dusted  in 
a  circle  upon  his  slightly  stooping  shoulders,  revealed  an 
apostolic  nature,  and  spoke  of  Christian  charity  and  of  the 
self-sacrifice  of  a  man,  who,  out  of  sheer  devotion  to  his 
patients,  had  compelled  himself  to  learn  to  play  whist  and 
tric-trac  so  well  that  he  never  lost  money  to  any  of  them. 

"  My  Lord  Marquis,"  said  he,  after  a  long  talk  with 
Raphael,  "  I  can  dispel  your  uneasiness  beyond  all  doubt.  I 
know  your  constitution  well  enough  by  this  time  to  assure  you 
that  the  doctors  in  Paris,  whose  great  abilities  I  know,  are 
mistaken  as  to  the  nature  of  your  complaint.  You  can  live  as 
long  as  Methuselah,  my  Lord  Marquis,  accidents  only  excepted. 
Your  lungs  are  as  sound  as  a  blacksmith's  bellows,  your 
stomach  would  put  an  ostrich  to  the  blush ;  but  if  you  persist 
in  living  at  a  high  altitude,  you  are  running  the  risk  of  prompt 
interment  in  consecrated  soil.  A  few  words,  my  Lord  Marquis, 
will  make  my  meaning  clear  to  you. 

"  Chemistry,"  he  began,  "  has  shown  us  that  man's  breath- 
ing is  a  real  process  of  combustion,  and  the  intensity  of  its 
action  varies  according  to  the  abundance  or  scarcity  of  the 
phlogistic  element  stored  up  by  the  organism  of  each  indi- 
vidual. In  your  case,  the  phlogistic  or  inflammatory  element 
is  abundant ;  if  you  will  permit  me  to  put  it  so,  you  generate 
superfluous  oxygen,  possessing  as  you  do  the  inflammatory 
temperament  of  a  man  destined  to  experience  strong  emotions. 
While  you  breathe  the  keen,  pure  air  that  stimulates  life  in 
men  of  lymphatic  constitution,  you  are  accelerating  an  expen- 
diture of  vitality  already  too  rapid.  One  of  the  conditions 
of  existence  for  you  is  the  heavier  atmosphere  of  the  plains 
and  valleys.  Yes,  the  vital  air  for  a  man  consumed  by  his 
genius  lies  in  the  fertile  pasture-lands  of  Germany,  at  Toplitz 
or  Baden-Baden.  If  England  is  not  obnoxious  to  you,  its 
misty  climate  would  reduce  your  fever;  but  the  situation  of 
our  baths,  a  thousand  feet  above  the  level  of  the  Mediterra- 
nean, is  dangerous  for  you.  That  is  my  opinion  at  least," 
17 


254  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIM. 

he  said,  with  a  deprecatory  gesture,  "  and  I  give  it  in  oppo- 
sition to  our  interests,  for,  if  you  act  upon  it,  we  shall  unfor- 
tunately lose  you." 

But  for  these  closing  words  of  his,  the  affable  doctor's 
seeming  good-nature  would  have  completely  won  Raphael 
over ;  but  he  was  too  profoundly  observant  not  to  under- 
stand the  meaning  of  the  tone,  the  look  and  gesture  that 
accompanied  that  mild  sarcasm,  riot  to  see  that  the  little 
man  had  been  sent  on  this  errand,  no  doubt,  by  a  flock  of 
his  rejoicing  patients.  The  florid-looking  idlers,  tedious 
old  women,  nomad  English  people,  and  fine  ladies  who  had 
given  their  husbands  the  slip,  and  were  escorted  hither  by 
their  lovers — one  and  all  were  in  a  plot  to  drive  away  a 
wretched,  feeble  creature  about  to  die,  who  seemed  unable 
to  hold  out  against  a  daily  renewed  persecution  !  Raphael 
accepted  the  challenge  ;  he  foresaw  some  amusement  to  be 
derived  from  their  manoeuvres. 

"As  you  would  be  so  grieved  at  losing  me,"  said  he  to 
the  doctor,  "  I  will  endeavor  to  avail  myself  of  your  good 
advice  without  leaving  the  place.  I  will  set  about  having 
a  house  built  to-morrow,  and  the  atmosphere  within  it  shall 
be  regulated  by  your  instruction." 

The  doctor  understood  the  sarcastic  smile  that  lurked 
about  Raphael's  mouth,  and  took  his  leave  without  finding 
another  word  to  say. 

The  Lake  of  Bourget  lies  seven  hundred  feet  above  the 
Mediterranean,  in  a  great  hollow  among  the  jagged  peaks  of 
the  hills  ;  it  sparkles  there,  the  bluest  drop  of  water  in  the 
world.  From  the  summit  of  the  Cat's  Tooth  the  lake  below 
looks  like  a  stray  turquoise.  This  lovely  sheet  of  water  is 
about  twenty-seven  miles  round,  and  in  some  places  is  nearly 
five  hundred  feet  deep. 

Under  the  cloudless  sky,  in  your  boat  in  the  midst  of  the 
great  expanse  of  water,  with  only  the  sound  of  the  oars  in 
your  ears,  only  the  vague  outline  of  the  hills  on  the  horizon 


THE  AGONY.  255 

before  you  ;  you  admire  the  glittering  snows  of  the  French 
Maurienne ;  you  pass  now  by  masses  of  granite  clad  in  the 
velvet  of  green  turf  or  in  low-growing  shrubs,  now  by  pleasant 
sloping  meadows ;  there  is  always  a  wilderness  on  the  one 
hand  and  fertile  lands  on  the  other,  and  both  harmonies  and 
dissonances  compose  a  scene  for  you  where  everything  is  at  once 
small  and  vast,  and  you  feel  yourself  to  be  a  poor  onlooker  at 
a  grand  banquet.  The  configuration  of  the  mountains  brings 
about  misleading  optical  conditions  and  illusions  of  perspec- 
tive ;  a  pine-tree  a  hundred  feet  in  height  looks  to  be  a  mere 
reed  ;  wide  valleys  look  as  narrow  as  meadow  paths.  The 
lake  is  the  only  one  where  the  confidences  of  heart  and  heart 
can  be  exchanged.  There  one  can  love  ;  there  one  can  medi- 
tate. Nowhere  on  earth  will  you  find  a  closer  understanding 
between  the  water,  the  sky,  the  mountains,  and  the  fields. 
There  is  a  balm  there  for  all  the  agitations  of  life.  The  place 
keeps  the  secrets  of  sorrow  to  itself,  the  sorrow  that  grows  less 
beneath  its  soothing  influence ;  and  to  love,  it  gives  a  grave 
and  meditative  cast,  deepening  passion  and  purifying  it.  A 
kiss  there  becomes  something  great.  But  beyond  all  things 
it  is  a  lake  for  memories ;  it  aids  them  by  lending  to  them 
the  hues  of  its  own  waves ;  it  is  a  mirror  in  which  everything  is 
reflected.  Only  here,  with  this  lovely  landscape  all  round 
him,  could  Raphael  endure  the  burden  laid  upon  him ;  here 
he  could  remain  as  a  languid  dreamer,  without  a  wish  of  his 
own. 

He  went  out  upon  the  lake  after  the  doctor's  visit,  and  was 
landed  at  a  lonely  point  on  the  pleasant  slope  where  the  village 
of  Saint-Innocent  is  situated.  The  view  from  this  promon- 
tory, as  one  may  call  it,  comprises  the  heights  of  Bugey  with 
the  Rhone  flowing  at  their  foot,  and  at  the  end  of  the  lake ; 
but  Raphael  liked  to  look  at  the  opposite  shore  from  thence, 
at  the  melancholy  looking  Abbey  of  Haute-Combe,  the  bury- 
ing-place  of  the  Sardinian  kings,  who  lie  prostrate  there  before 
the  hills,  like  pilgrims  come  at  last  to  their  journey's  end. 


256  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

The  silence  of  the  landscape  was  broken  by  the  even  rhythm 
of  the  strokes  of  the  oar ;  it  seemed  to  find  a  voice  for  the 
place,  in  monotonous  cadences  like  the  chanting  of  monks. 
The  Marquis  was  surprised  to  find  visitors  to  this  usually  lonely 
part  of  the  lake ;  and  as  he  mused,  he  watched  the  people 
seated  in  the  boat,  and  recognized  in  the  stern  the  elderly 
lady  who  had  spoken  so  harshly  to  him  the  evening  before. 

No  one  took  any  notice  of  Raphael  as  the  boat  passed, 
except  the  elderly  lady's  companion,  a  poor  old  maid  of  noble 
family,  who  bowed  to  him,  and  whom  it  seemed  to  him  that 
he  saw  for  the  first  time.  A  few  seconds  later  he  had  already 
forgotten  the  visitors,  who  had  rapidly  disappeared  behind 
the  promontory,  when  he  heard  the  fluttering  of  a  dress,  and 
the  sound  of  light  footsteps  not  far  from  him.  He  turned 
about  and  saw  the  companion ;  and,  guessing  from  her  em- 
barrassed manner  that  she  wished  to  speak  with  him,  he  walked 
towards  her. 

She  was  somewhere  about  thirty-six  years  of  age,  thin  and 
tall,  reserved  and  prim,  and,  like  all  old  maids,  seemed  puzzled 
to  know  which  way  to  look,  an  expression  no  longer  in  keep- 
ing with  her  measured,  springless,  and  hesitating  steps.  She 
was  both  young  and  old  at  the  same  time,  and,  by  a  certain 
dignity  in  her  carriage,  showed  the  high  value  which  she  set 
upon  her  charms  and  perfections.  In  addition,  her  movements 
were  all  demure  and  discreet,  like  those  of  women  who  are 
accustomed  to  take  great  care  of  themselves,  no  doubt  because 
they  desire  not  to  be  cheated  of  love,  their  destined  end. 

"Your  life  is  in  danger,  sir;  do  not  come  to  the  Club 
again  !  "  she  said,  stepping  back  a  pace  or  two  from  Raphael, 
as  if  her  reputation  had  been  already  compromised. 

"But,  mademoiselle,"  said  Raphael,  smiling,  "please  ex- 
plain yourself  more  clearly,  since  you  have  condescended 

so  far " 

"Ah,"   she  answered,   "unless  I  had   had   a   very  strong 
motive,  I   should  never  have  run  the  risk  of  offending  the 


THE  AGONY.  257 

Countess,  for  if  she  ever  came  to  know  that  I  had  warned 
you " 

"  And  who  would  tell  her,  mademoiselle  ?  "  cried  Raphael. 

"True,"  the  old  maid  answered.  She  looked  at  him, 
quaking  like  an  owl  out  in  the  sunlight.  "  But  think  of  your- 
self," she  went  on;  "several  young  men,  who  want  to  drive 
you  away  from  the  baths,  have  agreed  to  pick  a  quarrel  with 
you,  and  to  force  you  into  a  duel." 

The  elderly  lady's  voice  sounded  in  the  distance. 

"  Mademoiselle,"  began  the  Marquis,  "  my  gratitude " 

But  his  protectress  had  fled  already ;  she  had  heard  the  voice 
of  her  mistress  squeaking  afresh  among  the  rocks. 

"Poor  girl !  unhappiness  always  understands  and  helps  the 
unhappy,"  Raphael  thought,  and  sat  himself  down  at  the  foot 
of  a  tree. 

The  key  of  every  science  is,  beyond  cavil,  the  mark  of 
interrogation  ;  we  owe  most  of  our  greatest  discoveries  to  a 
Why  ?  and  all  the  wisdom  in  the  world,  perhaps,  consists  in 
asking  Wherefore?  in  every  connection.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  this  acquired  prescience  is  the  ruin  of  our  illusions. 

So  Valentin,  having  taken  the  old  maid's  kindly  action  for 
the  text  of  his  wandering  thoughts,  without  the  deliberate 
promptings  of  philosophy,  must  find  it  full  of  gall  and  worm- 
wood. 

"  It  is  not  at  all  extraordinary  that  a  gentlewoman's  gentle- 
woman should  take  a  fancy  to  me,"  said  he  to  himself.  "  I 
am  twenty-seven  years  old,  and  I  have  a  title  and  an  income 
of  two  hundred  thousand  a  year.  But  that  her  mistress,  who 
hates  water  like  a  rabid  cat — for  it  would  be  hard  to  give  the 
palm  to  either  in  that  matter — that  her  mistress  should  have 
brought  her  here  in  a  boat !  Is  not  that  very  strange  and 
wonderful  ?  Those  two  women  came  into  Savoy  to  sleep  like 
marmots ;  they  ask  if  day  has  dawned  at  noon  ;  and  to  think 
that  they  could  get  up  this  morning  before  eight  o'clock  to 
take  their  chance  in  running  after  me  !  " 


258  THE    WILD  ASS'  SKIN. 

Very  soon  the  old  maid  and  her  elderly  innocence  became 
in  his  eyes,  a  fresh  manifestation  of  that  artificial,  malicious 
little  world.  It  was  a  paltry  device,  a  clumsy  artifice,  a  piece 
of  priest's  or  woman's  craft.  Was  the  duel  a  myth,  or  did 
they  merely  want  to  frighten  him  ?  But  these  petty  creatures, 
impudent  and  teasing  as  flies,  had  succeeded  in  wounding  his 
vanity,  in  rousing  his  pride,  and  exciting  his  curiosity. 
Unwilling  to  become  their  dupe,  or  to  be  taken  for  a  coward, 
and  even  diverted  perhaps  by  the  little  drama,  he  went  to  the 
Club  that  very  evening. 

He  stood  leaning  against  the  marble  chimney-piece,  and 
stayed  there  quietly  in  the  middle  of  the  principal  salon, 
doing  his  best  to  give  no  one  any  advantage  over  him  ;  but 
he  scrutinized  the  faces  about  him,  and  gave  a  certain  vague 
offence  to  those  assembled,  by  his  inspection.  Like  a  dog 
aware  of  his  strength,  he  awaited  the  contest  on  his  own 
ground,  without  unnecessary  barking.  Towards  the  end  of 
the  evening  he  strolled  into  the  card-room,  walking  between 
the  door  and  another  that  opened  into  the  billiard-room, 
throwing  a  glance  from  time  to  time  over  a  group  of  young 
men  that  had  gathered  there.  He  heard  his  name  mentioned 
after  a  turn  or  two.  Although  they  lowered  their  voices, 
Raphael  easily  guessed  that  he  had  become  the  topic  of  their  de- 
bate, and  he  ended  by  catching  a  phrase  or  two  spoken  aloud. 

"You?" 

"Yes,  I." 

"  I  dare  you  to  do  it !  " 

"  Let  us  make  a  bet  on  it !  !' 

"Oh,  he  will  do  it." 

Just  as  Valentin,  curious  to  learn  the  matter  of  the 
wager,  came  up  to  pay  closer  attention  to  what  they  were 
saying,  a  tall,  strong,  good-looking  young  fellow,  who,  how- 
ever, possessed  the  impertinent  stare  peculiar  to  people  who 
have  material  force  at  their  back,  came  out  of  the  billiard- 
room. 


THE   AGONY.  259 

"I  am  deputed,  sir,"  he  said  coolly,  addressing  the  Mar- 
quis, "  to  make  you  aware  of  something  which  you  do  not 
seem  to  know  ;  your  face  and  person  generally  are  a  source 
of  annoyance  to  every  one  here,  and  to  me  in  particular. 
You  have  too  much  politeness  not  to  sacrifice  yourself  to  the 
public  good,  and  I  beg  that  you  will  not  show  yourself  in  the 
Club  again." 

"This  sort  of  joke  has  been  perpetrated  before,  sir,  in  gar- 
rison towns  at  the  time  of  the  Empire ;  but  nowadays  it  is 
exceedingly  bad  form,"  said  Raphael  drily. 

"I  am  not  joking,"  the  young  man  answered;  "  and  I 
repeat  it :  your  health  will  be  considerably  the  worse  for  a 
stay  here ;  the  heat  and  light,  the  air  of  the  salon,  and  the 
company  are  all  bad  for  your  complaint." 

"  Where  did  you  study  medicine?  "  Raphael  inquired. 

"  I  took  my  bachelor's  degree  on  Lepage's  shooting-ground 
in  Paris,  and  was  made  a  doctor  at  Cerizier's,  the  king  of 
foils." 

"There  is  one  last  degree  left  for  you  to  take,"  said  Val- 
entin ;  "  study  the  ordinary  rules  of  politeness,  and  you  will 
be  a  perfect  gentleman." 

The  young  men  all  came  out  of  the  billiard-room  just  then, 
some  disposed  to  laugh,  some  silent.  The  attention  of  other 
players  was  drawn  to  the  matter ;  they  left  their  cards  to 
watch  a  quarrel  that  rejoiced  their  instincts.  Raphael,  alone 
among  this  hostile  crowd,  did  his  best  to  keep  cool,  and  not 
to  put  himself  in  any  way  in  the  wrong  ;  but  his  adversary 
having  ventured  a  sarcasm  containing  an  insult  couched  in 
unusually  keen  language,  he  replied  gravely — 

"  We  cannot  box  men's  ears,  sir,  in  these  days,  but  I  am  at 
a  loss  for  any  word  by  which  to  stigmatize  such  cowardly 
behavior  as  yours." 

"That's  enough,  that's  enough.  You  can  come  to  an 
explanation  to-morrow,"  several  young  men  exclaimed,  inter- 
posing between  the  two  champions. 


260  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

Raphael  left  the  room  in  the  character  of  aggressor,  after 
he  had  accepted  a  proposal  to  meet  near  the  Chateau  de 
Bordeau,  in  a  little  sloping  meadow,  not  very  far  from  the 
newly  made  road,  by  which  the  man  who  came  off  victorious 
could  reach  Lyons.  Raphael  must  now  either  take  to  his  bed 
or  leave  the  baths.  The  visitors  had  gained  their  point.  At 
eight  o'clock  next  morning  his  antagonist,  followed  by  two 
seconds  and  a  surgeon,  arrived  first  on  the  ground. 

"  We  shall  do  very  nicely  here ;  glorious  weather  for  a 
duel,"  he  cried  gaily,  looking  at  the  blue  vault  of  sky  above, 
at  the  waters  of  the  lake,  and  the  rocks,  without  a  single 
melancholy  presentiment  or  doubt  of  the  issue.  "  If  I  wing 
him,"  he  went  on,  "  I  shall  send  him  to  bed  for  a  month; 
eh,  doctor?  " 

"At  the  very  least,"  the  surgeon  replied;  "but  let  that 
willow  twig  alone,  or  you  will  weary  your  wrist,  and  then  you 
will  not  fire  steadily.  You  might  kill  your  man  then  instead 
of  wounding  him." 

The  noise  of  a  carriage  was  heard  approaching. 

"Here  he  is,"  said  the  seconds,  who  soon  descried  a 
caleche  coming  along  the  road  ;  it  was  drawn  by  four  horses, 
and  there  were  two  postilions. 

"  What  a  queer  proceeding  !  "  said  Valentin's  antagonist ; 
"here  he  comes  post-haste  to  be  shot." 

The  slightest  incident  about  a  duel,  as  about  a  stake  at 
cards,  makes  an  impression  on  the  minds  of  those  deeply 
concerned  in  the  results  of  the  affair ;  so  the  young  man 
awaited  the  arrival  of  the  carriage  with  a  kind  of  uneasiness. 
It  stopped  in  the  road  ;  old  Jonathan  laboriously  descended 
from  it,  in  the  first  place,  to  assist  Raphael  to  alight  ;  he 
supported  him  with  his  feeble  arms,  and  showed  him  all  the 
minute  attentions  that  a  lover  lavishes  upon  his  mistress. 
Both  became  lost  to  sight  in  the  footpath  that  lay  between  the 
high-road  and  the  field  where  the  duel  was  to  take  place  ; 
they  were  walking  slowly,  and  did  not  appear  again  for  some 


THE  AGONY.  261 

time  after.  The  four  onlookers  at  this  strange  spectacle  felt 
deeply  moved  by  the  sight  of  Valentin  as  he  leaned  on  his 
servant's  arm  ;  he  was  wasted  and  pale  ;  he  limped  as  if  he 
had  the  gout,  went  with  his  head  bowed  down,  and  said  not  a 
word.  You  might  have  taken  them  for  a  couple  of  old  men, 
one  broken  with  years,  the  other  worn  out  with  thought ;  the 
elder  bore  his  age  visibly  written  in  his  white  hair,  the 
younger  was  of  no  age. 

"I  have  not  slept  all  night,  sir;  "  so  Raphael  greeted  his 
antagonist. 

The  icy  tone  and  terrible  glance  that  went  with  the  words 
made  the  real  aggressor  shudder;  he  knew  that  he  was  in  the 
wrong,  and  felt  in  secret  ashamed  of  his  behavior.  There 
was  something  strange  in  Raphael's  bearing,  tone  and  gesture  ; 
the  Marquis  stopped,  and  every  one  else  was  likewise  silent. 
The  uneasy  and  constrained  feeling  grew  to  a  height. 

"  There  is  yet  time,"  he  went  on,  "  to  offer  me  some  slight 
apology ;  and  offer  it  you  must,  or  you  will  die,  sir !  You 
rely  even  now  on  your  dexterity,  and  do  not  shrink  from  an 
encounter  in  which  you  believe  all  the  advantage  to  be  upon 
your  side.  Very  good,  sir ;  I  am  generous,  I  am  letting  you 
know  my  superiority  beforehand.  I  possess  a  terrible  power. 
I  have  only  to  wish  to  do  so,  and  I  can  neutralize  your  skill, 
dim  your  eyesight,  make  your  hand  and  pulse  unsteady,  and 
even  kill  you  outright.  I  have  no  wish  to  be  compelled  to 
exercise  my  power ;  the  use  of  it  costs  me  too  dear.  You 
would  not  be  the  only  one  to  die.  So  if  you  refuse  to  apolo- 
gize to  me,  no  matter  what  your  experience  in  murder,  your 
ball  will  go  into  the  waterfall  there,  and  mine  will  speed 
straight  to  your  heart  though  I  do  not  aim  it  at  you." 

Confused  voices  interrupted  Raphael  at  this  point.  All  the 
time  that  he  was  speaking,  the  Marquis  had  kept  his  intolera- 
bly keen  gaze  fixed  upon  his  antagonist;  now  he  drew  him- 
self up  and  showed  an  impassive  face,  like  that  of  a  dangerous 
madman. 


262  7W£    WILD   ASS'    SKIN. 

"  Make  him  hold  his  tongue,"  the  young  man  had  said  to 
one  of  his  seconds;  "that  voice  of  his  is  tearing  the  heart 
out  of  me." 

"  Say  no  more,  sir;  it  is  quite  useless,"  cried  the  seconds 
and  the  surgeon,  addressing  Raphael. 

"Gentlemen,  I  am  fulfilling  a  duty.  Has  this  young 
gentleman  any  final  arrangements  to  make  ?  " 

"That  is  enough;  that  will  do." 

The  Marquis  remained  standing  steadily,  never  for  a 
moment  losing  sight  of  his  antagonist ;  and  the  latter  seemed, 
like  a  bird  before  a  snake,  to  be  overwhelmed  by  a  well-nigh 
magical  power.  He  was  compelled  to  endure  that  homicidal 
gaze ;  he  met  and  shunned  it  incessantly. 

"I  am  thirsty;  give  me  some  water "  he  said  again  to 

the  second. 

"Are  you  nervous?" 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "There  is  a  fascination  about  that 
man's  glowing  eyes." 

"Will  you  apologize?  " 

"It  is  too  late  now." 

The  two  antagonists  were  placed  at  fifteen  paces  distant 
from  each  other.  One  of  them  had  a  brace  of  pistols  at  hand, 
and,  according  to  the  programme  prescribed  for  them,  each 
was  to  fire  twice  when  and  how  he  pleased,  but  after  the  signal 
had  been  given  by  the  seconds. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  Charles  ?"  exclaimed  the  young  man 
who  acted  as  second  to  Raphael's  antagonist ;  "  you  are  put- 
ting in  the  ball  before  the  powder  !" 

"  I  am  a  dead  man,"  he  muttered,  by  way  of  answer ;  "  you 
have  put  me  facing  the  sun " 

"The  sun  lies  behind  you,"  said  Valentin  sternly  and 
solemnly,  while  he  coolly  loaded  his  pistol  without  heeding 
the  fact  that  the  signal  had  been  given,  or  that  his  antagonist 
was  carefully  taking  aim. 

There  was  something  so  appalling  in  this  supernatural  uncon- 


VALENTIN    HURRIEDLY    SOUGHT    THE     WILD     ASS-    SKIN    TO 
SEE    WHAT    ANOTHER    MAN'S    LIFE    HAD    COST    HIM. 


THE  AGONY.  263 

cern,  that  it  affected  the  two  postilions,  brought  thither  by  a 
cruel  curiosity.  Raphael  was  either  trying  his  power  or  play- 
ing with  it,  for  he  talked  to  Jonathan,  and  looked  towards 
him  as  he  received  his  adversary's  fire.  Charles'  bullet  broke 
a  branch  of  willow,  and  ricocheted  over  the  surface  of  the 
water;  Raphael  fired  at  random,  and  shot  his  antagonist 
through  the  heart.  He  did  not  heed  the  young  man  as  he 
dropped ;  he  hurriedly  sought  the  Wild  Ass'  Skin  to  see  what 
another  man's  life  had  cost  him.  The  talisman  was  no  larger 
than  a  small  oak-leaf. 

"What  are  you  gaping  at,  you  postilions  over  there?  Let 
us  be  off,"  said  the  Marquis. 

That  same  evening  he  crossed  the  French  border,  immedi- 
ately set  out  for  Auvergne,  and  reached  the  springs  of  Mont 
Dore.  As  he  traveled,  there  surged  up  in  his  heart,  all  at 
once,  one  of  those  thoughts  that  come  to  us  as  a  ray  of  sun- 
light pierces  through  the  thick  mists  in  some  dark  valley — a  sad 
enlightenment,  a  pitiless  sagacity  that  lights  up  the  accom- 
plished fact  for  us,  that  lays  our  errors  bare,  and  leaves  us  with- 
out excuse  in  our  own  eyes.  It  suddenly  struck  him  that  the 
possession  of  power,  no  matter  how  enormous,  did  not  bring 
with  it  the  knowledge  how  to  use  it.  The  sceptre  is  a  play- 
thing for  a  child,  an  axe  for  a  Richelieu,  and  for  a  Napoleon 
a  lever  by  which  to  move  the  world.  Power  leaves  us  just  as 
it  finds  us ;  only  great  natures  grow  greater  by  its  means. 
Raphael  had  had  everything  in  his  power,  and  he  had  done 
nothing. 

At  the  springs  of  Mont  Dore  he  came  again  in  contact  with 
a  little  world  of  people,  who  invariably  shunned  him  with  the 
eager  haste  that  animals  display  when  they  scent  afar  off  one 
of  their  own  species  lying  dead,  and  flee  away.  The  dislike 
was  mutual.  His  late  adventure  had  given  him  a  deep  distaste 
for  society ;  his  first  care,  consequently,  was  to  find  a  lodging 
at  some  distance  from  the  neighborhood  of  the  springs.  In- 
stinctively he  felt  within  him  the  need  of  close  contact  with 


264  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN. 

nature,  of  natural  emotions,  and  of  the  vegetative  life  into 
which  we  sink  so  gladly  among  the  fields. 

The  day  after  he  arrived  he  climbed  the  Pic  de  Sancy,  not 
without  difficulty,  and  visited  the  higher  valleys,  the  skyey 
nooks,  undiscovered  lakes,  and  peasants'  huts  about  Mont 
Dore,  a  country  whose  stern  and  wild  features  are  now  begin- 
ning to  tempt  the  brushes  of  our  artists,  for  sometimes  wonder- 
fully fresh  and  charming  views  are  to  be  found  there,  affording 
a  strong  contrast  to  the  frowning  brows  of  those  lonely  hills. 

Barely  a  league  from  the  village  Raphael  discovered  a  nook 
where  nature  seemed  to  have  taken  a  pleasure  in  hiding  away 
all  her  treasures  like  some  glad  and  mischievous  child.  At 
the  first  sight  of  this  unspoiled  and  picturesque  retreat,  he 
determined  to  take  up  his  abode  in  it.  There,  life  must 
needs  be  peaceful,  natural,  and  fruitful,  like  the  life  of  a  plant. 

Imagine  for  yourself  an  inverted  cone  of  granite  hollowed 
out  on  a  large  scale,  a  sort  of  basin  with  its  sides  divided  up 
by  queer  winding  paths.  On  one  side  lay  level  stretches  with 
no  growth  upon  them,  a  bluish  uniform  surface,  over  which 
the  rays  of  the  sun  fell  as  upon  a  mirror ;  on  the  other  lay 
cliffs  split  open  by  fissures  and  frowning  ravines ;  great  blocks 
of  lava  hung  suspended  from  them,  while  the  action  of  rain 
slowly  prepared  their  impending  fall ;  a  few  stunted  trees,  tor- 
mented by  the  wind,  often  crowned  their  summits;  and  here 
and  there  in  some  sheltered  angle  of  their  ramparts  a  clump 
of  chestnut-trees  grew  tall  as  cedars,  or  some  cavern  in  the 
yellowish  rock  showed  the  dark  entrance  into  its  depths,  set 
about  by  flowers  and  brambles,  decked  by  a  little  strip  of 
green  turf. 

"At  the  bottom  of  this  cup,  which  perhaps  had  been  the 
crater  of  an  old-world  volcano,  lay  a  pool  of  water  as  pure  and 
bright  as  a  diamond.  Granite  boulders  lay  around  the  deep 
basin,  and  willows,  mountain-ash  trees,  yellow-flag  lilies,  and 
numberless  aromatic  plants  bloomed  about  it,  in  a  realm  of 
meadow  as  fresh  as  an  English  bowling-green.  The  fine  soft 


THE  AGONY.  265 

grass  was  watered  by  the  streams  that  trickled  through  the 
fissures  in  the  cliffs ;  the  soil  was  continually  enriched  by  the 
deposits  of  loam  which  storms  washed  down  from  the  heights 
above.  The  pool  might  be  some  three  acres  in  extent ;  its 
shape  was  irregular,  and  the  edges  were  scalloped  like  the  hem 
of  a  dress ;  the  meadow  might  be  an  acre  or  two  acres  in 
extent.  The  cliffs  and  the  water  approached  and  receded 
from  each  other ;  here  and  there,  there  was  scarcely  width 
enough  for  the  cows  to  pass  between  them. 

After  a  certain  height  the  plant  life  ceased.  Aloft  in  air 
the  granite  took  upon  itself  the  most  fantastic  shapes,  and 
assumed  those  misty  tints  that  give  to  high  mountains  a  dim 
resemblance  to  clouds  in  the  sky.  The  bare,  bleak  cliffs,  with 
the  fearful  rents  in  their  sides,  pictures  of  wild  and  barren 
desolation,  contrasted  strongly  with  the  pretty  view  of  the 
valley ;  and  so  strange  were  the  shapes  they  assumed,  that  one 
of  the  cliffs  had  been  called  "The  Capuchin,"  because  it  was 
so  like  a  monk.  Sometimes  these  sharp-pointed  peaks,  these 
mighty  masses  of  rock,  and  airy  caverns  were  lighted  up  one 
by  one,  according  to  the  direction  of  the  sun  or  the  caprices 
of  the  atmosphere ;  they  caught  gleams  of  gold,  dyed  them- 
selves in  purple,  took  a  tint  of  glowing  rose-color,  or  turned 
dull  and  gray.  Upon  the  heights  a  drama  of  color  was  always 
to  be  seen,  a  play  of  ever-shifting  iridescent  hues  like  those  on 
a  pigeon's  breast. 

Oftentimes  at  sunrise  or  at  sunset  a  ray  of  bright  sunlight 
would  penetrate  between  two  sheer  surfaces  of  lava,  that  might 
have  been  split  apart  by  a  hatchet,  to  the  very  depths  of  that 
pleasant  little  garden,  where  it  would  play  in  the  waters  of  the 
\  ol,  like  a  beam  of  golden  light  which  gleams  through  the 
chinks  of  a  shutter  into  a  room  in  Spain,  that  has  been  care- 
fully darkened  for  a  siesta.  When  the  sun  arose  above  the 
old  crater  that  some  antediluvian  revolution  had  filled  with 
water,  its  rocky  sides  took  warmer  tones,  the  extinct  volcano 
glowed  again,  and  its  sudden  heat  quickened  the  sprouting 


266  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

seeds  and  vegetation,  gave  color  to  the  flowers,  and  ripened 
the  fruits  of  this  forgotten  corner  of  the  earth. 

As  Raphael  readied  it,  he  noticed  several  cows  grazing  in 
the  pasture-land ;  and  when  he  had  taken  a  few  steps  towards 
the  water,  he  saw  a  little  house  built  of  granite  and  roofed 
with  shingle  in  the  spot  where  the  meadow-land  was  at  its 
widest.  The  roof  of  this  little  cottage  harmonized  with  every- 
thing about  it ;  for  it  had  long  been  overgrown  with  ivy,  moss, 
and  flowers  of  no  recent  date.  A  thin  smoke,  that  did  not 
scare  the  birds  away,  went  up  from  the  dilapidated  chimney. 
There  was  a  great  bench  at  the  door  between  huge  honey- 
suckle bushes,  that  were  pink  with  blossom  and  full  of  scent. 
The  walls  could  scarcely  be  seen  for  branches  of  vine  and 
sprays  of  rose  and  jessamine  that  interlaced  and  grew  entirely 
as  chance  and  their  own  will  bade  them ;  for  the  inmates  of 
the  cottage  seemed  to  pay  no  attention  to  the  growth  which 
adorned  their  house,  and  to  take  no  care  of  it,  leaving  to  it 
the  fresh  capricious  charm  of  nature. 

Some  clothes  spread  out  on  the  gooseberry  bushes  were  dry- 
ing in  the  sun.  A  cat  was  sitting  on  a  machine  for  stripping 
hemp;  beneath  it  lay  a  newly  scoured  brass  caldron,  among 
a  quantity  of  potato-parings.  On  the  other  side  of  the  house 
Raphael  saw  a  sort  of  barricade  of  dead  thorn-bushes,  meant 
no  doubt  to  keep  the  poultry  from  scratching  up  the  vegeta- 
bles and  pot-herbs.  It  seemed  like  the  end  of  the  earth. 
The  dwelling  was  like  some  bird's-nest  ingeniously  set  in  a 
cranny  of  the  rocks,  a  clever  and  at  the  same  time  a  careless 
bit  of  workmanship.  A  simple  and  kindly  nature  lay  round 
about  it ;  its  rusticity  was  genuine,  but  there  was  a  charm  like 
that  of  poetry  in  it ;  for  it  grew  and  throve  at  a  thousand 
miles'  distance  from  our  elaborate  and  conventional  poetry. 
It  was  like  none  of  our  conceptions ;  it  was  a  spontaneous 
growth,  a  masterpiece  due  to  chance. 

As  Raphael  reached  the  place,  the  sunlight  fell  across  it 
from  right  to  left,  bringing  out  all  the  colors  of  its  plants  and 


THE  AGONY.  267 

trees  ;  the  yellowish  or  gray  bases  of  the  crags,  the  different 
shades  of  the  green  leaves,  the  masses  of  flowers,  pink,  blue, 
or  white,  the  climbing  plants  with  their  bell-like  blossoms, 
and  the  shot  velvet  of  the  mosses,  the  purple-tinted  blooms 
of  the  heather, — everything  was  either  brought  into  relief  or 
made  fairer  yet  by  the  enchantment  of  the  light  or  by  the 
contrasting  shadows  ;  and  this  was  the  case  most  of  all  with 
the  sheet  of  water,  wherein  the  house,  the  trees,  the  granite 
peaks,  and  the  sky  were  all  faithfully  reflected.  Everything 
had  a  radiance  of  its  own  in  this  delightful  picture,  from  the 
sparkling  mica  stone  to  the  bleached  tuft  of  grass  hidden 
away  in  the  soft  shadows ;  the  spotted  cow  with  its  glossy 
hide,  the  delicate  water-plants  that  hung  down  over  the  pool 
like  fringes  in  a  nook  where  blue  or  emerald  colored  insects 
were  buzzing  about,  the  roots  of  trees  like  a  sand-besprinkled 
shock  of  hair  above  grotesque  faces  in  the  flinty  rock  surface, 
— all  these  things  made  a  harmony  for  the  eye. 

The  odor  of  the  tepid  water,  the  scent  of  the  flowers,  and 
the  breath  of  the  caverns  which  filled  the  lonely  place,  gave 
Raphael  a  sensation  that  was  almost  enjoyment.  Silence 
reigned  in  majesty  over  these  woods,  which  possibly  are 
unknown  to  the  tax-collector;  but  the  barking  of  a  couple 
of  dogs  broke  the  stillness  all  at  once  ;  the  cows  turned  their 
heads  towards  the  entrance  of  the  valley,  showing  their  moist 
noses  to  Raphael,  stared  stupidly  at  him,  and  then  fell  to 
browsing  again.  A  goat  and  her  kid,  that  seemed  to  hang  on 
the  side  of  the  crags  in  some  magical  fashion,  capered  and 
leaped  to  a  slab  of  granite  near  to  Raphael,  and  stayed  there 
a  moment,  as  if  to  seek  to  know  who  he  was.  The  yapping 
of  the  dogs  brought  out  a  plump  child,  who  stood  agape,  and 
next  came  a  white-haired  old  man  of  middle  height.  Both 
of  these  two  beings  were  in  keeping  with  the  surroundings, 
the  air,  the  flowers,  and  the  dwelling.  Health  appeared  to 
overflow  in  this  fertile  region ;  old  age  and  childhood  thrived 
there.  There  seemed  to  be,  about  all  these  types  of  exist- 


268  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN. 

ence,  the  freedom  and  carelessness  of  the  life  of  primitive 
times,  a  happiness  of  use  and  wont  that  gave  the  lie  to  our 
philosophical  platitudes,  and  wrought  a  cure  of  all  its  swelling 
passions  in  the  heart. 

The  old  man  belonged  to  the  type  of  model  dear  to  the 
masculine  brush  of  Schnetz.  The  countless  wrinkles  upon  his 
brown  face  looked  as  if  they  would  be  hard  to  the  touch  ;  the 
straight  nose,  the  prominent  cheek-bones,  streaked  with  red 
veins  like  a  vine-leaf  in  autumn,  the  angular  features,  all  were 
characteristics  of  strength,  even  where  strength  existed  no 
longer.  The  hard  hands,  now  that  they  toiled  no  longer, 
had  preserved  their  scanty  white  hair  ;  his  bearing  was  that 
of  an  absolutely  free  man  ;  it  suggested  the  thought  that,  had 
he  been  an  Italian,  he  would  have  perhaps  turned  brigand,  for 
the  love  of  the  liberty  so  dear  to  him.  The  child  was  a  reg- 
ular mountaineer,  with  the  black  eyes  that  can  face  the  sun 
without  flinching,  a  deeply-tanned  complexion,  and  rough 
brown  hair.  His  movements  were  like  a  bird's — swift,  deci- 
ded, and  unconstrained  ;  his  clothing  was  ragged  ;  the  white, 
fair  skin  showed  through  the  rents  in  his  garments.  There 
they  both  stood  in  silence,  side  by  side,  both  obeying  the 
same  impulse ;  in  both  faces  were  clear  tokens  of  an  abso- 
lutely identical  and  idle  life.  The  old  man  had  adopted  the 
child's  amusements,  and  the  child  had  fallen  in  with  the  old 
man's  humor;  there  was  a  sort  of  tacit  agreement  between  two 
kinds  of  feebleness,  between  failing  powers  well-nigh  spent 
and  powers  just  about  to  unfold  themselves. 

Very  soon  a  woman  who  seemed  to  be  about  thirty  years  old 
appeared  on  the  threshold  of  the  door,  spinning  as  she  came. 
She  was  an  Auvergnate,  a  high-colored,  comfortable-looking, 
straightforward  sort  of  person,  with  white  teeth;  her  cap  and 
dress,  the  face,  full  figure,  and  general  appearance  were  of 
the  Auvergne  peasant  stamp.  So  was  her  dialect ;  she  was  a 
thorough  embodiment  of  her  district ;  its  hard-working  ways, 
its  thrift,  ignorance,  and  heartiness  all  met  in  her. 


THE  AGONY.  269 

She  greeted  Raphael,  and  they  began  to  talk.  The  dogs 
quieted  down  ;  the  old  man  went  and  sat  on  a  bench  in  the 
sun  ;  the  child  followed  his  mother  about  whenever  she  went, 
listening  without  saying  a  word,  and  staring  at  the  stranger. 

"  You  are  not  afraid  to  live  here,  good  woman  ?  " 

"What  should  we  be  afraid  of,  sir?  When  we  bolt  the 
door,  whoever  could  get  inside?  Oh,  no,  we  aren't  afraid  at 
all.  And  besides,"  she  said,  as  she  brought  the  Marquis  into 
the  principal  room  in  the  house,  "what  should  thieves  come 
to  take  from  us  here  ?  ' ' 

She  designated  the  room  as  she  spoke  ;  the  smoke-blackened 
walls,  with  some  brilliant  pictures  in  blue,  red  and  green,  an 
"  End  of  Credit,"  a  Crucifixion,  and  the  "  Grenadiers  of  the 
Imperial  Guard,"  for  their  sole  ornament ;  the  furniture  here 
and  there,  the  old  wooden  four-post  bedstead,  the  table  with 
crooked  legs,  a  few  stools,  the  chest  that  held  the  bread,  the 
flitch  that  hung  from  the  ceiling,  a  jar  of  salt,  a  stove,  and 
on  the  mantel-shelf  a  few  discolored  yellow  plaster  figures. 
As  he  went  out  again  Raphael  noticed  a  man  half-way  up  the 
crags,  leaning  on  a  hoe,  and  watching  the  house  with  interest. 

"That's  my  man,  sir,"  said  the  Auvergnate,  unconsciously 
smiling  in  peasant  fashion  ;  "  he  is  at  work  up  there." 

"  And  that  old  man  is  your  father  ?  " 

"Asking  your  pardon,  sir,  he  is  my  man's  grandfather. 
Such  as  you  see  him,  he  is  a  hundred  and  two,  and  yet  quite 
lately  he  walked  over  to  Clermont  with  our  little  chap !  Oh, 
he  has  been  a  strong  man  in  his  time ;  but  he  does  nothing 
now  but  sleep  and  eat  and  drink.  He  amuses  himself  with 
the  little  fellow.  Sometimes  the  child  trails  him  up  the 
hillsides,  and  he  will  just  go  up  there  along  with  him. 

Valentin  made  up  his  mind  immediately.  He  would  live 
between  this  child  and  old  man,  breathe  the  same  air,  eat 
their  bread,  drink  the  same  water,  sleep  with  them,  make 
the  blood  in  his  veins  like  theirs.  It  was  a  dying  man's 
fancy.  For  him  the  prime  model,  after  which  the  customary 
18 


270  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

existence  of  the  individual  should  be  shaped,  the  real  formula 
for  the  life  of  a  human  being,  the  only  true  and  possible  life, 
the  life-ideal,  was  to  become  one  of  the  oysters  adhering  to 
this  rock,  to  save  his  shell  a  day  or  two  longer  by  paralyzing 
the  power  of  death.  One  profoundly  selfish  thought  took 
possession  of  him,  and  the  whole  universe  was  swallowed  up 
and  lost  in  it.  For  him  the  universe  existed  no  longer  ;  the 
whole  world  had  come  to  be  within  himself.  For  the  sick, 
the  world  begins  at  their  pillow  and  ends  at  the  foot  of  the 
bed  ;  and  this  country-side  was  Raphael's  sick  bed. 

Who  has  not,  at  some  time  or  other  in  his  life,  watched  the 
comings  and  goings  of  an  ant,  slipped  straws  into  a  yellow 
slug's  one  breathing-hole,  studied  the  vagaries  of  a  slender 
dragon-fly,  pondered  admiringly  over  the  countless  veins  in 
an  oak-leaf,  that  bring  the  colors  of  a  rose  window  in  some 
Gothic  cathedral  into  contrast  with  the  reddish  background? 
Who  has  not  looked  long  in  delight  at  the  effects  of  sun  and 
rain  on  a  roof  of  brown  tiles,  at  the  dewdrops,  or  at  the 
variously  shaped  petals  of  the  flower-cups  ?  Who  has  not 
sunk  into  these  idle,  absorbing  meditations  on  things  without, 
that  have  no  conscious  end,  yet  lead  to  some  definite  thought 
at  last?  Who,  in  short,  has  not  led  a  lazy  life,  the  life  of 
childhood,  the  life  of  the  savage  without  his  labor?  This  life 
without  a  care  or  a  wish,  Raphael  led  for  some  days'  space. 
He  felt  a  distinct  improvement  in  his  condition,  a  wonderful 
sense  of  ease,  that  quieted  his  apprehensions  and  soothed  his 
sufferings. 

He  would  climb  the'crags,  and  then  find  a  seat  high  up  on 
some  peak  whence  he  could  see  a  vast  expanse  of  distant 
country  at  a  glance,  and  he  would  spend  whole  days  in  this 
way,  like  a  plant  in  the  sun,  or  a  hare  in  its  form.  And  at 
last,  growing  familiar  with  the  appearance  of  the  plant-life 
about  him,  and  of  the  changes  in  the  sky,  he  minutely  noted 
the  progress  of  everything  working  around  him  in  the  water, 
or  in  the  air.  He  tried  to  share  the  secret  impulses  of  nature, 


THE  AGONY.  271 

sought  by  passive  obedience  to  become  a  part  of  it,  and  to 
lie  within  the  conservative  and  despotic  jurisdiction  that  regu- 
lates instinctive  existence.  He  no  longer  wished  to  steer  his 
own  course. 

Just  as  criminals  in  olden  times  were  safe  from  the  pursuit 
of  justice,  if  they  took  refuge  under  the  shadow  of  the  altar, 
so  Raphael  made  an  effort  to  slip  into  the  sancturary  of  life. 
He  succeeded  in  becoming  an  integral  part  of  the  great  and 
mighty  fruit-producing  organization  ;  he  had  adapted  himself 
to  the  inclemency  of  the  air,  and  dwelt  in  every  cave  among 
the  rocks.  He  had  learned  the  ways  and  habits  of  growth  of 
every  plant,  had  studied  the  laws  of  the  watercourses  and 
their  beds,  and  had  come  to  know  the  animals ;  he  was  at  last  so 
perfectly  at  one  with  this  teeming  earth,  that  he  had  in  some 
way  discerned  its  mysteries  and  caught  the  spirit  of  it. 

The  infinitely  varied  forms  of  every  natural  kingdom  were, 
to  his  thinking,  only  developments  of  one  and  the  same  sub- 
stance, different  combinations  brought  about  by  the  same  im- 
pulse, endless  emanations  from  a  measureless  Being  which 
was  aching,  thinking,  moving,  and  growing,  and  in  harmony 
with  which  he  longed  to  grow,  to  move,  to  think,  and  act. 
He  had  fancifully  blended  his  life  with  the  life  of  the  crags ; 
he  had  deliberately  planted  himself  there.  During  the  earliest 
days  of  his  sojourn  in  these  pleasant  surroundings,  Valentin 
tasted  all  the  pleasures  of  childhood  again,  thanks  to  the  strange 
hallucination  of  apparent  convalescence,  which  is  not  unlike 
the  pauses  of  delirium  that  nature  mercifully  provides  for 
those  in  pain.  He  went  about  making  trifling  discoveries, 
setting  to  work  on  endless  things,  and  finishing  none  of  them; 
the  evening's  plans  were  quite  forgotten  in  the  morning ;  he 
bad  no  cares,  he  was  happy ;  he  thought  himself  saved. 

One  morning  he  had  lain  in  bed  till  noon,  deep  in  the 
dreams  between  sleep  and  waking,  which  give  to  realities  a 
fantastic  appearance,  and  make  the  wildest  fancies  seem  solid 
facts ;  while  he  was  still  uncertain  that  he  was  not  dreaming 


272  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

yet,  he  suddenly  heard  his  hostess  giving  a  report  of  his  health 
to  Jonathan,  for  the  first  time.  Jonathan  came  to  inquire 
after  him  daily  ;  and  the  Auvergnate,  thinking  no  doubt  that 
Valentin  was  still  asleep,  had  not  lowered  the  tones  of  a  voice 
developed  in  mountain  air. 

"No  better  and  no  worse,"  she  said.  "He  coughed  all 
last  night  again  fit  to  kill  himself.  Poor  gentleman,  he  coughs 
and  spits  till  it  is  piteous.  My  husband  and  I  often  wonder 
to  each  other  where  he  gets  the  strength  from  to  cough  like 
that.  It  goes  to  your  heart.  What  a  cursed  complaint  it  is  ! 
He  has  no  strength  at  all.  I  am  always  afraid  I  shall  find  him 
dead  in  his  bed  some  morning.  He  is  every  bit  as  pale  as  a 
waxen  Christ.  Dame  !  I  watch  him  as  he  dresses  ;  his  poor 
body  is  as  thin  as  a  nail.  And  he  does  not  feel  well  now;  but 
no  matter.  It's  all  the  same ;  he  wears  himself  out  with  run- 
ning about  as  if  he  had  health  and  to  spare.  All  the  same, 
he  is  very  brave,  for  he  never  complains  at  all.  But  really  he 
would  be  better  under  the  earth  than  on  it,  for  he  is  enduring 
the  agonies  of  Christ.  I  don't  wish  that  myself,  sir;  it  is 
quite  against  our  interests;  but  even  if  he  didn't  pay  us  what 
he  does,  I  should  be  just  as  fond  of  him ;  it  is  not  our  own 
interest  that  is  our  motive." 

"Ah,  mon  Dieu !  "  she  continued,  "Parisians  are  the 
people  for  these  dogs'  diseases.  Where  did  he  catch  it,  now? 
Poor  young  man  !  And  he  is  so  sure  that  he  is  going  to  get 
well!  That  fever  just  gnaws  him,  you  know;  it  eats  him 
away ;  it  will  be  the  death  of  him.  He  has  no  notion  what- 
ever of  that ;  he  does  not  know  it,  sir ;  he  sees  nothing 

You  mustn't  cry  about  him,  M.  Jonathan  ;  you  must  remem- 
ber that  he  will  be  happy,  and  will  not  suffer  any  more.  You 
ought  to  make  a  novena  for  him ;  I  have  seen  wonderful 
cures  come  of  a  nine  days'  prayer,  and  I  would  gladly  pay 
for  a  wax  taper  to  save  such  a  gentle  creature,  so  good  he  is, 
a  paschal  lamb " 

As  Raphael's  voice  had  grown  too  weak  to  allow  him  to 


THE   AGONY.  273 

make  himself  heard,  he  was  compelled  to  listen  to  this  hor- 
rible statement.  His  irritation,  however,  drove  him  out  of 
bed  at  length,  and  he  appeared  upon  the  threshold. 

"Old  scoundrel!"  he  shouted  to  Jonathan;  "do  you 
mean  to  put  me  to  death?" 

The  peasant  woman  took  him  for  a  ghost,  and  fled. 

"  I  forbid  you  to  have  any  anxiety  whatever  about  my 
health,"  Raphael  went  on. 

"Yes,  my  Lord  Marquis,"  said  the  old  servant,  wiping 
away  his  tears. 

"  And  for  the  future  you  had  very  much  better  not  come 
here  without  my  orders." 

Jonathan  meant  to  be  obedient,  but  in  the  look  full  of  pity 
and  devotion  that  he  gave  the  Marquis  before  he  went, 
Raphael  read  his  own  death-warrant.  Utterly  disheartened, 
brought  all  at  once  to  a  sense  of  his  real  position,  Valentin  sat 
down  on  the  threshold,  locked  his  arms  across  his  chest,  and 
bowed  his  head.  Jonathan  turned  to  his  master  in  alarm, 
with  "My  Lord " 

"Go away,  go  away,"  cried  the  invalid. 

In  the  hours  of  the  next  morning,  Raphael  climbed  the 
crags,  and  sat  down  in  a  mossy  cleft  in  the  rocks,  whence  he 
could  see  the  narrow  path  along  which  the  water  for  the 
dwelling  was  carried.  At  the  base  of  the  hill  he  saw  Jonathan 
in  conversation  with  the  Auvergnate.  Some  malicious  power 
interpreted  for  him  all  the  woman's  head-shakings,  melancholy 
gestures,  and  garrulous  forebodings,  and  filled  the  breeze 
and  the  silence  with  her  ominous  words.  Thrilled  with 
horror,  he  took  refuge  among  the  highest  summits  of  the 
mountains,  and  stayed  there  till  the  evening;  but  yet  he 
could  not  drive  away  the  gloomy  presentiments  awakened 
within  him  in  such  an  unfortunate  manner  by  a  cruel  solici- 
tude on  his  account. 

The  Auvergne  peasant  herself  suddenly  appeared  before 
him  like  a  shadow  in  the  dusk;  a  perverse  freak  of  the  poet 


274  THE    WILD  ASS'   SKIN. 

within  him  found  a  vague  resemblance  between  her  black  and 
white  striped  petticoat  and  the  bony  frame  of  a  spectre. 

"The  damp  is  falling  now,  sir,"  said  she.  "If  you  stop 
out  there,  you  will  go  off  just  like  rotten  fruit.  You  must 
come  in.  It  isn't  healthy  to  breathe  the  damp,  and  you  have 
taken  nothing  since  the  morning,  besides." 

"God's  thunder!  old  witch,"  he  cried;  "let  me  live 
after  my  own  fashion,  I  tell  you,  or  I  shall  be  off  altogether. 
It  is  quite  bad  enough  to  dig  my  grave  every  morning ;  you 

might  let  it  alone  in  the  evenings  at  least " 

"Your  grave,  sir!  I  dig  your  grave! — and  where  may 
your  grave  be?  I  want  to  see  you  as  old  as  father  there,  and 
not  in  your  grave  by  any  manner  of  means.  The  grave  !  that 

comes  soon  enough  for  us  all ;  in  the  grave " 

"That  is  enough,"  said  Raphael. 
"Take  my  arm,  sir." 
"No." 

The  feeling  of  pity  in  others  is  very  difficult  for  a  man  to 
bear,  and  it  is  hardest  of  all  when  the  pity  is  deserved. 
Hatred  is  a  tonic — it  quickens  life  and  stimulates  revenge ; 
but  pity  is  death  to  us — it  makes  our  weakness  weaker  still. 
It  is  as  if  distress  simpered  ingratiatingly  at  us ;  contempt 
lurks  in  the  tenderness,  or  tenderness  in  an  affront.  In  the 
centenarian  Raphael  saw  triumphant  pity,  a  wondering  pity 
in  the  child's  eyes,  an  officious  pity  in  the  woman,  and  in  her 
husband  a  pity  that  had  an  interested  motive ;  but  no  matter 
how  the  sentiment  declared  itself,  death  was  always  its  import. 
A  poet  makes  a  poem  of  everything ;  it  is  tragical  or  joy- 
ful, as  things  happen  to  strike  his  imagination  ;  his  lofty  soul 
rejects  all  half-tones  ;  he  always  prefers  vivid  and  decided 
colors.  In  Raphael's  soul  this  compassion  produced  a  terrible 
poem  of  mourning  and  melancholy.  When  he  had  wished  to 
live  in  close  contact  with  nature,  he  had  of  course  forgotten 
how  freely  natural  emotions  are  expressed.  He  would  think 
himself  quite  alone  under  a  tree,  whilst  he  struggled  with  an 


THE  AGONY,  275 

obstinate  coughing  fit,  a  terrible  combat  from  which  he  never 
issued  victorious  without  utter  exhaustion  afterwards ;  and 
then  he  would  meet  the  clear,  bright  eyes  of  the  little  boy, 
who  occupied  the  post  of  sentinel,  like  a  savage  in  a  bent  of 
grass ;  the  eyes  scrutinized  him  with  a  childish  wonder,  in 
which  there  was  as  much  amusement  as  pleasure,  and  an 
indescribable  mixture  of  indifference  and  interest.  The  awful 
Brother,  you  must  die,  of  the  Trappists  seemed  constantly 
legible  in  the  eyes  of  the  peasants  with  whom  Raphael  was 
living ;  he  scarcely  knew  which  he  dreaded  most,  their  unfet- 
tered talk  or  their  silence ;  their  presence  became  torture. 

One  morning  he  saw  two  men  in  black  prowling  about  in 
his  neighborhood,  who  furtively  studied  him  and  took  obser- 
vations. They  acted  as  though  they  had  come  there  for  a 
stroll,  and  asked  him  a  few  indifferent  questions,  to  which  he 
returned  short  answers.  He  recognized  them  both.  One 
was  the  cure  and  the  other  the  doctor  at  the  springs ;  Jona- 
than had  no  doubt  sent  them,  or  the  people  in  the  house  had 
called  them  in,  or  the  scent  of  an  approaching  death  had 
drawn  them  thither.  He  beheld  his  own  funeral,  heard  the 
chanting  of  the  priests,  and  counted  the  tall  wax  candles ; 
and  all  that  lovely  fertile  nature  around  him,  in  whose  lap  he 
had  thought  to  find  life  once  more,  he  saw  no  longer,  save 
through  a  veil  of  crape.  Everything  that  but  lately  had 
spoken  of  length  of  days  to  him,  now  prophesied  a  speedy 
end.  He  set  out  the  next  day  for  Paris,  not  before  he  had 
been  inundated  with  cordial  wishes,  which  the  people  of  the 
house  uttered  in  melancholy  and  wistful  tones  for  his  benefit. 

He  traveled  through  the  night,  and  awoke  as  they  passed 
through  one  of  the  pleasant  valleys  of  the  Bourbonnais.  View 
after  view  swam  before  his  gaze,  and  passed  rapidly  away  like 
the  vague  pictures  of  a  dream.  Cruel  nature  spread  herself 
out  before  his  eyes  with  tantalizing  grace.  Sometimes  the 
Allier,  a  liquid  shining  riband,  meandered  through  the  distant 
fertile  landscape ;  then  followed  the  steeples  of  hamlets, 


276  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

hiding  modestly  in  the  depths  of  a  ravine  with  its  yeiiow 
cliffs  ;  sometimes,  after  the  monotony  of  vineyards,  the  water- 
mills  of  a  little  valley  would  be  suddenly  seen ;  and  every- 
where there  were  pleasant  chateaux,  hillside  villages,  roads 
with  their  fringes  of  queenly  poplars ;  and  the  Loire  itself,  at, 
last,  with  its  wide  sheets  of  water  sparkling  like  diamonds 
amid  its  golden  sands.  Attractions  everywhere,  without  end  ! 
This  nature,  all  astir  with  a  life  and  gladness  like  that  of 
childhood,  scarcely  able  to  contain  the  impulses  and  sap  of 
June,  possessed  a  fatal  attraction  for  the  darkened  gaze  of  the 
invalid.  He  drew  the  blinds  of  his  carriage  windows,  and 
betook  himself  again  to  slumber. 

Towards  evening,  after  they  had  passed  Cesne,  he  was 
awakened  by  lively  music,  and  found  himself  confronted  with 
a  village  fair.  The  horses  were  changed  near  the  market- 
place. Whilst  the  postilions  were  engaged  in  making  the 
transfer,  he  saw  the  people  dancing  merrily,  pretty  and  attrac- 
tive girls  with  flowers  about  them,  excited  youths,  and  finally 
the  jolly  wine-flushed  countenances  of  the  old  peasants.  Chil- 
dren prattled,  old  women  laughed  and  chatted ;  everything 
spoke  in  one  voice,  and  there  was  a  holiday  gaiety  about 
everything,  down  to  their  clothing  and  the  tables  that  were 
set  out.  A  cheerful  expression  pervaded  the  square  and  the 
church,  the  roofs  and  windows ;  even  the  very  doorways  of 
the  village  seemed  likewise  to  be  in  holiday  trim. 

Raphael  could  not  repress  an  angry  exclamation,  nor  yet  a 
wish  to  silence  the  fiddles,  annihilate  the  stir  and  bustle,  stop 
the  clamor,  and  disperse  the  ill-timed  festival ;  like  a  dying 
man,  he  felt  unable  to  endure  the  slightest  sound,  and  he 
entered  his  carriage  much  annoyed.  When  he  looked  out 
upon  the  square  from  the  window,  he  saw  that  all  the  happi- 
ness was  scared  away  ;  the  peasant  women  were  in  flight,  and 
the  benches  were  deserted.  Only  a  blind  musician,  on  the 
scaffolding  of  the  orchestra,  went  on  playing  a  shrill  tune  on 
his  clarionette.  That  piping  of  his,  without  dancers  to  it,  and 


THE  AGONY.  277 

the  solitary  old  man  himself,  in  the  shadow  of  the  lime-tree, 
with  his  curmudgeon's  face,  scanty  hair,  and  ragged  clothing, 
was  like  a  fantastic  picture  of  Raphael's  wish.  The  heavy 
rain  was  pouring  in  torrents ;  it  was  one  of  those  thunder- 
storms that  June  brings  about  so  rapidly,  to  cease  as  suddenly. 
The  thing  was  so  natural  that,  when  Raphael  had  looked  out 
and  seen  some  pale  clouds  driven  by  a  gust  of  wind,  he  did 
not  think  of  looking  at  the  piece  of  skin.  He  lay  back  again 
in  the  corner  of  his  carriage,  which  was  very  soon  rolling  upon 
its  way. 

The  next  day  found  him  back  in  his  home  again,  in  his 
own  room,  beside  his  own  fireside.  He  had  had  a  large  fire 
lighted ;  he  felt  cold.  Jonathan  brought  him  some  letters ; 
they  were  all  from  Pauline.  He  opened  the  first  one  without 
any  eagerness,  and  unfolded  it  as  if  it  had  been  the  gray- 
paper  form  of  application  for  taxes  made  by  the  revenue  col- 
lector. He  read  the  first  sentence  : — 

"  Gone  !  This  really  is  a  flight,  my  Raphael.  How  is  it? 
No  one  can  tell  me  where  you  are.  And  who  should  know  if 
not  I." 

He  did  not  wish  to  learn  any  more.  He  calmly  took  up 
the  letters  and  threw  them  in  the  fire,  watching  with  dull  and 
lifeless  eyes  the  perfumed  paper  as  it  was  twisted,  shriveled, 
bent,  and  devoured  by  the  capricious  flames.  Fragments  that 
fell  among  the  ashes  allowed  him  to  see  the  beginning  of  a 
sentence,  or  a  half-burnt  thought  or  word ;  he  took  a  pleasure 
in  deciphering  them — a  sort  of  mechanical  amusement. 

"  Sitting  at  your  door — expected — Caprice — I  obey — Rivals 
— I,  never! — thy  Pauline — love — no  more  of  Pauline? — If 
you  had  wished  to  leave  me  forever,  you  would  not  have  de- 
serted me — Love  eternal — To  die " 

The  words  caused  him  a  sort  of  remorse  ;  he  seized  the 
tongs,  and  rescued  a  last  fragment  of  the  letter  from  the 
flames. 

"  I  have  murmured,"  so  Pauline  wrote,  "  but  I  have  never 


278  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

complained,  my  Raphael !  If  you  have  left  me  so  far  behind 
you,  it  was  doubtless  because  you  wished  to  hide  some  heavy 
grief  from  me.  Perhaps  you  will  kill  me  one  of  these  days, 
but  you  are  too  good  to  torture  me.  So  do  not  go  away  from 
me  like  this.  There !  I  can  bear  the  worst  of  torment,  if 
only  I  am  at  your  side.  Any  grief  that  you  could  cause  me 
would  not  be  grief.  There  is  far  more  love  in  my  heart  for 
you  than  I  have  ever  yet  shown  you.  I  can  endure  any- 
thing, except  this  weeping  far  away  from  you,  this  ignorance 
of  your " 

Raphael  laid  the  scorched  scrap  on  the  mantel-piece,  then 
all  at  once  he  flung  it  in  the  fire.  This  bit  of  paper  was  too 
clearly  a  symbol  of  his  own  love  and  luckless  existence. 

"Go  and  find  M.  Bianchon,"  he  told  Jonathan. 

Horace  came  and  found  Raphael  in  bed. 

"  Can  you  prescribe  a  draught  for  me — some  mild  opiate 
which  will  always  keep  me  in  a  somnolent  condition,  a  draught 
that  will  not  be  injurious  although  taken  constantly." 

"  Nothing  is  easier,"  the  young  doctor  replied  ;  "  but  you 
will  have  to  keep  on  your  feet  for  a  few  hours  daily,  at  any 
rate,  so  as  to  take  your  food." 

"A  few  hours!"  Raphael  broke  in;  "  no,  no  !  I  only 
wish  to  be  out  of  bed  for  an  hour  at  most." 

"  What  is  your  object  ?  "  inquired  Bianchon. 

"To  sleep;  for  so  one  keeps  alive,  at  any  rate,"  the 
patient  answered.  "  Let  no  one  come  in,  not  even  Mile. 
Pauline  de  Vitschnau  !  "  he  added  to  Jonathan,  as  the  doctor 
was  writing  out  his  prescription. 

"Well,  M.  Horace,  is  there  any  hope?  "  the  old  servant 
asked,  going  as  far  as  the  flight  of  steps  before  the  door,  with 
the  young  doctor. 

"  He  may  live  for  some  time  yet,  or  he  may  die  to-night. 
The  chances  of  life  and  death  are  evenly  balanced  in  his  case. 
I  can't  understand  it  at  all,"  said  the  doctor,  with  a  doubtful 
gesture.  "  His  mind  ought  to  be  diverted." 


THE  AGONY.  279 

"  Diverted  !  Ah,  sir,  you  don't  know  him  !  He  killed  a 
man  the  other  day  without  a  word  ! — Nothing  can  divert 
him  !  " 

For  some  days  Raphael  lay  plunged  in  the  torpor  of  this 
artificial  sleep.  Thanks  to  the  material  power  that  opium 
exerts  over  the  immaterial  part  of  us,  this  man  with  the  power- 
ful and  active  imagination  reduced  himself  to  the  level  of 
those  sluggish  forms  of  animal  life  that  lurk  in  the  depths 
of  forests,  and  take  the  form  of  vegetable  refuse,  never  stir- 
ring from  their  place  to  catch  their  easy  prey.  He  had  dark- 
ened the  very  sun  in  heaven  ;  the  daylight  never  entered  his 
room.  About  eight  o'clock  in  the  evening  he  would  leave  his 
bed,  with  no  very  clear  consciousness  of  his  own  existence ; 
he  would  satisfy  the  claims  of  hunger  and  return  to  bed  imme- 
diately. One  dull  blighted  hour  after  another  only  brought 
confused  pictures  and  appearances  before  him,  and  lights  and 
shadows  against  a  background  of  darkness.  He  lay  buried  in 
deep  silence;  movement  and  intelligence  were  completely 
annihilated  for  him.  He  woke  later  than  usual  one  evening, 
and  found  that  his  dinner  was  not  ready.  He  rang  for 
Jonathan. 

"  You  can  go,"  he  said.  "  I  have  made  you  rich  ;  you 
shall  be  happy  in  your  old  age ;  but  I  will  not  let  you  muddle 
away  my  life  any  longer.  Miserable  wretch  !  I  am  hungry 
— where  is  my  dinner  ?  How  is  it  ?- — Answer  me  !  " 

A  satisfied  smile  stole  over  Jonathan's  face.  He  took  a 
candle  that  lit  up  the  great  dark  rooms  of  the  mansion  with 
its  flickering  light ;  brought  his  master,  who  had  again  become 
an  automaton,  into  a  great  gallery,  and  flung  a  door  suddenly 
open.  Raphael  was  all  at  once  dazzled  by  a  flood  of  light 
and  amazed  by  an  unheard-of  scene. 

His  chandeliers  had  been  filled  with  wax-lights  ;  the  rarest 
flowers  from  his  conservatory  were  carefully  arranged  about 
the  room  ;  the  table  sparkled  with  silver,  gold,  crystal,  and 
porcelain  ;  a  royal  banquet  was  spread — the  odors  of  the 


280  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

tempting  dishes  tickled  the  nervous  fibres  of  the  palate. 
There  sat  his  friends ;  he  saw  them  among  beautiful  women  in 
full  evening  dress,  with  bare  necks  and  shoulders,  with  flowers 
in  their  hair;  fair  women  of  every  type,  with  sparkling  eyes, 
attractively  and  fancifully  arrayed.  One  had  adopted  an 
Irish  jacket,  which  displayed  the  alluring  outlines  of  her 
form;  one  wore  the  "  basquina "  of  Andalusia,  with  its 
wanton  grace  ;  here  was  a  half-clad  Dian  the  huntress,  there 
the  costume  of  Mile,  dela  Valliere,  amorous  and  coy  ;  and  all 
of  them  alike  were  given  up  to  the  intoxication  of  the  moment. 

As  Raphael's  death-pale  face  showed  itself  in  the  doorway,  a 
sudden  outcry  broke  out,  as  vehement  as  the  blaze  of  this  im- 
provised banquet.  The  voices,  perfumes,  and  lights,  the 
exquisite  beauty  of  the  women,  produced  their  effect  upon  his 
senses,  and  awakened  his  desires.  Delightful  music,  from 
unseen  players  in  the  next  room,  drowned  the  excited  tumult 
in  a  torrent  of  harmony — the  whole  strange  vision  was  com- 
plete. 

Raphael  felt  a  caressing  pressure  of  his  own  hand,  a  woman's 
white,  youthful  arms  were  stretched  out  to  grasp  him,  and  the 
hand  was  Aquilina's.  He  knew  now  that  this  scene  was  not 
a  fantastic  illusion  like  the  fleeting  pictures  of  his  disordered 
dreams;  he  uttered  a  dreadful  cry,  slammed  the  door,  and 
dealt  his  heartbroken  old  servant  a  blow  in  the  face. 

"Monster!"  he  cried,  "so  you  have  sworn  to  kill  me!  " 
and  trembling  at  the  risks  he  had  just  now  run,  he  summoned 
all  his  energies,  reached  his  room,  took  a  powerful  sleeping 
draught,  and  went  to  bed. 

"  The  devil  !  "  cried  Jonathan,  recovering  himself.  "And 
M.  Bianchon  most  certainly  told  me  to  divert  his  mind." 

It  was  close  upon  midnight.  By  that  time,  owing  to  one 
of  those  physical  caprices  that  are  the  marvel  and  the  despair 
of  science,  Raphael,  in  his  slumber,  became  radiant  with 
beauty.  A  bright  color  glowed  on  his  pale  cheeks.  There 
was  an  almost  girlish  grace  about  the  forehead  in  which  his 


THE  AGONY.  281 

genius  was  revealed.  Life  seemed  to  bloom  on  the  quiet  face 
that  lay  there  at  rest.  His  sleep  was  sound ;  a  light,  even 
breath  was  drawn  in  between  the  red  lips ;  he  was  smiling — 
he  had  passed  no  doubt  through  the  gate  of  dreams,  into  a 
noble  life.  Was  he  a  centenarian  now?  Did  his  grandchil- 
dren come  to  wish  him  length  of  days?  Or,  on  a  rustic 
bench  set  in  the  sun  and  under  the  trees,  was  he  scanning, 
like  the  prophet  on  the  mountain-heights,  a  promised  land,  a 
fer-off  time  of  blessing. 

"  Here  you  are  !  " 

The  words,  uttered  in  silver  tones,  dispelled  the  shadowy 
faces  of  his  dreams.  He  saw  Pauline,  in  the  lamplight,  sitting 
upon  the  bed  ;  Pauline  grown  fairer  yet  through  sorrow  and 
separation.  Raphael  remained  bewildered  by  the  sight  of  her 
face,  white  as  the  petals  of  some  water  flower,  and  the  shadow 
of  her  long,  dark  hair  about  it  seemed  to  make  it  whiter  still. 
Her  tears  had  left  a  gleaming  trace  upon  her  cheeks,  and 
hung  there  yet,  ready  to  fall  at  the  least  movement.  She  looked 
like  an  angel  fallen  from  the  skies,  or  a  spirit  that  a  breath 
might  waft  away,  as  she  sat  there  all  in  white,  with  her  head 
bowed,  scarcely  creasing  the  quilt  beneath  her  weight. 

"Ah,  I  have  forgotten  everything  !  "  she  cried,  as  Raphael 
opened  his  eyes.  "I  have  no  voice  left  except  to  tell  you, 
'  I  am  yours.'  There  is  nothing  in  my  heart  but  love.  Angel 
of  my  life,  you  have  never  been  so  beautiful  before  !  Your 

eyes  are  blazing But  come,  I  can  guess  it  all.  You  have 

been  in  search  of  health  without  me ;  you  were  afraid  of  me 
well " 

"Go!  go!  leave  me,"  Raphael  uttered  at  last.  "Why 
do  you  not  go  ?  If  you  stay,  I  shall  die.  Do  you  want  to 
see  me  die?  " 

"  Die?"  she  echoed.  "  Can  you  die  without  me?  Die? 
But  you  are  young ;  and  I  love  you  !  Die  ?  "  she  asked,  in  a 
deep,  hollow  voice.  She  seized  his  hands  with  a  frenzied 
movement.  "  Cold  !  "  she  wailed.  "  Is  it  all  an  illusion  ?  " 


282  THE    WILD  ASS'    SKIN. 

Raphael  drew  the  little  bit  of  skin  from  under  his  pillow ;  it 
was  as  tiny  and  as  fragile  as  a  periwinkle-petal.  He  showed 
it  to  her. 

"  Pauline  !  "  he  said,  "  fair  image  of  my  fair  life,  let  us  say 
good-bye." 

"Good-bye?"  she  echoed,  looking  surprised. 

"  Yes.  This  is  a  talisman  that  grants  all  my  wishes,  and 
that  represents  my  span  of  life.  See  here,  this  is  all  that 
remains  of  it.  If  you  look  at  me  any  longer,  I  shall  die " 

The  young  girl  thought  that  Valentin  had  grown  light- 
headed ;  she  took  the  talisman  and  went  to  fetch  the  lamp. 
By  its  tremulous  light  which  she  shed  over  Raphael  and  the 
talisman,  she  scanned  her  lover's  face  and  the  last  morsel  of 
the  magic  skin.  As  Pauline  stood  there,  in  all  the  beauty  of 
love  and  terror,  Raphael  was  no  longer  able  to  control  his 
thoughts ;  memories  of  tender  scenes,  and  of  passionate  and 
fevered  joys,  overwhelmed  the  soul  that  had  so  long  lain  dor- 
mant within  him,  and  kindled  a  fire  not  quite  extinct. 

"  Pauline  !  Pauline  !     Come  to  me " 

A  dreadful  cry  came  from  the  girl's  throat,  her  eyes  dilated 
with  horror,  her  eyebrows  were  distorted  and  drawn  apart  by 
an  unspeakable  anguish  ;  she  read  in  Raphael's  eyes  the  vehe- 
ment desire  in  which  she  had  once  exulted,  but  as  it  grew  she 
felt  a  light  movement  in  her  hand,  and  the  skin  contracted. 
She  did  not  stop  to  think  ;  she  fled  into  the  next  room,  and 
locked  the  door. 

"Pauline!  Pauline!"  cried  the  dying  man,  as  he  rushed 
after  her ;  "I  love  you,  I  adore  you,  I  want  you,  Pauline  !  I 
must  curse  you  if  you  will  not  open  the  door  for  me.  I  wish 
to  die  in  your  arms  ! ' ' 

With  unnatural  strength,  the  last  effort  of  ebbing  life,  he 
broke  down  the  door,  and  saw  his  mistress  writhing  upon  a 
sofa.  Pauline  had  vainly  tried  to  pierce  her  heart,  and  now 
thought  to  find  a  rapid  death  by  strangling  herself  with  her 
shawl. 


THE  AGONY.  283 

"  If  I  die,  he  will  live,"  she  said,  trying  to  tighten  the 
knot  that  she  had  made. 

In  her  struggle  with  death  her  hair  hung  loose,  her  shoul- 
ders were  bare,  her  clothing  was  disordered,  her  eyes  were 
bathed  in  tears,  her  face  was  flushed  and  drawn  with  the 
horror  of  despair ;  yet  as  her  exceeding  beauty  met  Raphael's 
intoxicated  eyes,  his  delirium  grew.  He  sprang  towards  her 
like  a  bird  of  prey,  tore  away  the  shawl,  and  tried  to  take 
her  in  his  arms. 

The  dying  man  sought  for  words  to  express  the  wish  that 
was  consuming  his  strength ;  but  no  sounds  would  come 
except  the  choking  death-rattle  in  his  chest.  Each  breath  he 
drew  sounded  hollower  than  the  last,  and  seemed  to  come 
from  his  very  entrails.  At  the  last  moment,  no  longer  able  to 
utter  a  sound,  he  set  his  teeth  in  Pauline's  breast.  Jonathan 
appeared,  terrified  by  the  cries  he  had  heard,  and  tried  to 
tear  away  the  dead  body  from  the  grasp  of  the  girl  who  was 
crouching  with  it  in  a  corner. 

"  What  do  you  want?  "  she  asked.  "  He  is  mine  ;  I  have 
killed  him.  Did  I  not  foresee  how  it  would  be  ?  " 


EPILOGUE. 

"And  what  became  of  Pauline?  " 

"  Pauline  ?  Ah  !  Do  you  sometimes  spend  a  pleasant  winter 
evening  by  your  own  fireside,  and  give  yourself  up  luxuriously 
to  memories  of  love  or  youth,  while  you  watch  the  glow  of 
the  fire  where  the  logs  of  oak  are  burning  ?  Here,  the  fire 
outlines  a  sort  of  chessboard  in  red  squares,  there  it  has  a 
sheen  like  velvet ;  little  blue  flames  start  up  and  flicker  and 
play  about  in  the  glowing  depths  of  the  brasier.  A  mysteri- 
ous artist  comes  and  adapts  that  flame  to  his  own  ends ;  by  a 
secret  of  his  own  he  draws  a  visionary  face  in  the  midst  of 
those  flaming  violet  and  crimson  hues,  a  face  with  unimagina- 


284  THE    WILD  ASS'    SJT7M 

ble  delicate  outlines,  a  fleeting  apparition  which  no  chance 
will  ever  bring  back  again.  It  is  a  woman's  face,  her  hair  is 
blown  back  by  the  wind,  her  features  speak  of  a  rapture  of 
delight ;  she  breathes  fire  in  the  midst  of  the  fire.  She 
smiles,  she  dies,  you  will  never  see  her  any  more.  Farewell, 
flower  of  the  flame  !  Farewell,  essence  incomplete  and  un- 
foreseen, come  too  early  or  too  late  to  make  the  spark  of 
some  glorious  diamond." 

"But,  Pauline." 

"You  do  not  see,  then?  I  will  begin  again.  Make  way! 
make  way  !  She  comes,  she  is  here,  the  queen  of  illusions,  a 
woman  fleeting  as  a  kiss,  a  woman  bright  as  lightning,  issuing 
in  a  blaze  like  lightning  from  the  sky,  a  being  uncreated,  of 
spirit  and  love  alone.  She  has  wrapped  her  shadowy  form  in 
flame,  or  perhaps  the  flame  betokens  that  she  exists  but  for  a 
moment.  The  pure  outlines  of  her  shape  tell  you  that  she  comes 
from  heaven.  Is  she  not  radiant  as  an  angel  ?  Can  you  not 
hear  the  beating  of  her  wings  in  space  ?  She  sinks  down  beside 
you  more  lightly  than  a  bird,  and  you  are  entranced  by  her 
awful  eyes  ;  there  is  a  magical  power  in  her  light  breathing  that 
draws  your  lips  to  hers ;  she  flies  and  you  follow  ;  you  feel  the 
earth  beneath  you  no  longer.  If  you  could  but  once  touch  that 
form  of  snow  with  your  eager,  deluded  hands,  once  twine  the 
golden  hair  around  your  fingers,  place  one  kiss  on  those  shining 
eyes !  There  is  an  intoxicating  vapor  around,  and  the  spell 
of  a  siren  music  is  upon  you.  Every  nerve  in  you  is  quiver- 
ing ;  you  are  filled  with  pain  and  longing.  O  joy  for  which 
there  is  no  name  !  You  have  touched  the  woman's  lips,  and 
you  are  wakened  at  once  by  a  horrible  pang.  Oh  !  ah  !  yes, 
you  have  struck  your  head  against  the  corner  of  the  bedpost, 
you  have  been  clasping  its  brown  mahogany  sides,  and  chilly 
gilt  ornaments;  embracing  a  piece  of  metal,  a  brazen  cupid." 

"But  how  about  Pauline,  sir?" 

"What,  again?  Listen.  One  lovely  morning  at  Tours  a 
young  man,  who  held  the  hand  of  a  pretty  woman  in  his, 


THE  AGONY.  285 

went  on  board  the  "  Ville  d'  Angers."  Thus  united  they  both 
looked  and  wondered  long  at  a  white  form  that  rose  elusively 
out  of  the  mists  above  the  broad  waters  of  the  Loire,  like 
some  child  of  the  sun  and  the  river,  or  some  freak  of  air  and 
cloud.  This  translucent  form  was  a  sylph  or  a  naiad  by  turns; 
she  hovered  in  the  air  like  a  word  that  haunts  the  memory, 
which  seeks  in  vain  to  grasp  it ;  she  glided  among  the  islands, 
she  nodded  her  head  here  and  there  among  th'e  tall  poplar 
trees ;  then  she  grew  to  a  giant's  height ;  she  shook  out  the 
countless  folds  of  her  drapery  to  the  light  ;  she  shot  light 
from  the  aureole  that  the  sun  had  lit  about  her  face ;  she 
hovered  above  the  slopes  of  the  hills  and  their  little  hamlets, 
and  seemed  to  bar  the  passage  of  the  Chateau  d'Usse.  You 
might  have  thought  that  La  dame  des  belles  cousines*  sought 
to  protect  her  country  from  modern  intrusion. 

"Well,  well,  I  understand.  So  it  went  with  Pauline.  But 
how  about  Fredora  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  Foedora,  you  are  sure  to  meet  with  her!  She  was 
at  the  Bouffons  last  night,  and  she  will  go  to  the  opera  this 
evening,  and  if  you  like  to  take  it  so,  she  is  society." 

*  The  lady  with  pretty  cousins. 


THE  ELIXIR  OF  LIFE. 

(V Elixir  dc  longue  Vie.} 
To  THE  READER. 

AT  the  very  outset  of  the  writer's  literary  career,  a  friend, 
long  since  dead,  gave  him  the  subject  of  this  study.  Later  on 
he  found  the  same  story  in  a  collection  published  about  the 
beginning  of  the  present  century.  To  the  best  of  his  belief, 
it  is  some  stray  fancy  of  the  brain  of  Hoffmann,  of  Berlin  ; 
probably  it  appeared  in  some  German  almanac,  and  was 
omitted  in  the  published  editions  of  his  collected  works.  The 
"  Comedie  Humaine  "  is  sufficiently  rich  in  original  creations 
for  the  author  to  own  to  this  innocent  piece  of  plagiarism  ; 
when,  like  the  worthy  La  Fontaine,  he  has  told  unwittingly, 
and  after  his  own  fashion,  a  tale  already  related  by  another. 
This  is  not  one  of  the  hoaxes  in  vogue  in  the  year  1830,  when 
every  author  wrote  his  "tale  of  horror"  for  the  amusement 
of  young  ladies.  When  you  have  read  the  account  of  Don 
Juan's  decorous  parricide,  try  to  picture  to  yourself  the  part 
which  would  be  played  under  very  similar  circumstances  by 
honest  folk  who,  in  this  nineteenth  century,  will  take  a  man's 
money  and  undertake  to  pay  him  a  life  annuity  on  the  faith 
of  a  chill,  or  let  a  house  to  an  ancient  lady  for  the  term  of 
her  natural  life?  Would  they  be  for  resuscitating  their 
clients?  I  should  dearly  like  a  connoisseur  in  consciences  to 
consider  how  far  there  is  a  resemblance  between  a  Don  Juan 
and  fathers  who  marry  their  children  to  great  expectations. 
Does  humanity,  which,  according  to  certain  philosophers,  is 
making  progress,  look  OH  the  art  of  waiting  for  dead  men's 
shoes  as  a  step  in  the  right  direction  ?  To  this  art  we  owe  sev- 
(286) 


THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  287 

eral  honorable  professions,  which  open  up  ways  of  living  on 
death.  There  are  people  who  rely  entirely  on  an  expected 
demise  ;  who  brood  over  it,  crouching  each  morning  upon  a 
corpse,  that  serves  again  for  their  pillow  at  night.  To  this 
class  belong  bishops'  coadjutors,  cardinals'  supernumeraries, 
tontiniers,*  and  the  like.  Add  to  the  list  many  delicately 
scrupulous  persons  eager  to  buy  landed  property  beyond  their 
means,  who  calculate  with  dry  logic  and  in  cold  blood  the 
probable  duration  of  the  life  of  a  father  or  of  a  stepmother, 
some  old  man  or  woman  of  eighty  or  ninety,  saying  to  them- 
selves, "  I  shall  be  sure  to  come  in  for  it  in  three  years'  time, 

and  then "     A  murderer  is  less  loathsome  to  us  than  a 

spy.  The  murderer  may  have  acted  on  a  sudden  mad  im- 
pulse ;  he  may  be  penitent  and  amend  ;  but  a  spy  is  always  a 
spy,  night  and  day,  in  bed,  at  table,  as  he  walks  abroad  ;  his 
vileness  pervades  every  moment  of  his  life.  Then  what  must 
it  be  to  live  when  every  moment  of  your  life  is  tainted  with 
murder  ?  And  have  we  not  just  admitted  that  a  host  of 
human  creatures  in  our  midst  are  led  by  our  laws,  customs, 
and  usages  to  dwell  without  ceasing  on  a  fellow-creature's 
death.  There  are  men  who  put  the  weight  of  a  coffin  into 
their  deliberations  as  they  bargain  for  Cashmere  shawls  for 
their  wives,  as  they  go  up  the  staircase  of  a  theatre,  or  think 
of  going  to  the  Bouffons,  or  of  setting  up  a  carriage ;  who 
are  murderers  in  thought  when  dear  ones,  with  the  irresistible 
charm  of  innocence,  hold  up  childish  foreheads  to  be  kissed 
with  a  "Good-night,  father  !  "  Hourly  they  meet  the  gaze 
of  eyes  that  they  would  fain  close  forever,  eyes  that  still  open 
each  morning  to  the  light,  like  Belvidero's  in  this  study. 
God  alone  knows  the  number  pf  those  who  are  parricides  in 
thought.  Picture  to  yourself  the  state  of  mind  of  a  man 
who  must  pay  a  life  annuity  to  some  old  woman  whom  he 
scarcely  knows;  both  live  in  the  country  with  a  brook  between 
them,  both  sides  are  free  to  hate  cordially,  without  offending 

*  Possessors  of  Tontine  Annuities  on  Survivorships. 


288  THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

against  the  social  conventions  that  require  two  brothers  to 
wear  a  mask  if  the  older  will  succeed  to  the  entail,  and  the 
other  to  the  fortune  of  a  younger  son.  The  whole  civilization 
of  Europe  turns  upon  the  principle  of  hereditary  succession 
as  upon  a  pivot ;  it  would  be  madness  to  subvert  the  prin- 
ciple ;  but  could  we  not,  in  an  age  that  prides  itself  upon  its 
mechanical  inventions,  perfect  this  essential  portion  of  the 
social  machinery? 

If  the  author  has  preserved  the  old-fashioned  style  of 
address  "To  the  Reader"  before  a  work  wherein  he  en- 
deavors to  represent  all  literary  forms,  it  is  for  the  purpose,  of 
making  a  remark  that  applies  to  several  of  the  studies,  and 
very  specially  to  this.  Every  one  of  his  compositions  has 
been  based  upon  ideas  more  or  less  novel,  which,  as  it  seemed 
to  him,  needed  literary  expression  ;  he  can  claim  priority  for 
certain  forms  and  for  certain  ideas  which  have  since  passed 
into  the  domain  of  literature,  and  have  there,  in  some 
instances,  become  common  property  ;  so  that  the  date  of  the 
first  publication  of  each  study  cannot  be  a  matter  of  indiffer- 
ence to  those  of  his  readers  who  would  fain  do  him  justice. 

Reading  brings  us  unknown  friends,  and  what  friend  is  like 
a  reader  !  We  have  friends  in  our  own  circle  who  read  noth- 
ing of  ours.  The  author  hopes  to  pay  his  debt,  by  dedica- 
ting this  work  Diis  ignotis. 


ONE  winter  evening,  in  a  princely  palace  at  Ferrara,  Don 
Juan  Belvidero  was  giving  a  banquet  to  a  prince  of  the  house 
of  Este.  A  banquet  in  those  times  was  a  marvelous  spectacle 
which  only  royal  wealth  or  the  power  of  a  mighty  lord  could 
furnish  forth.  Seated  about  a  table  lit  up  with  perfumed 
tapers,  seven  laughter-loving  women  were  interchanging  sweet 
talk.  The  white  marble  of  the  noble  works  of  art  about 
them  stood  out  against  the  red  stucco  walls,  and  made  strong 
contrasts  with  the  rich  Turkey  carpets.  Clad  in  satin,  glit- 


THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  289 

taring  with  gold,  and  covered  with  gems  less  brilliant  than 
their  eyes,  each  told  a  tale  of  energetic  passions  as  diverse  as 
their  styles  of  beauty.  They  differed  neither  in  their  ideas 
nor  in  their  language ;  but  the  expression  of  their  eyes,  their 
glances,  occasional  gestures,  or  the  tones  of  their  voices  sup- 
plied a  commentary,  dissolute,  wanton,  melancholy,  or  satir- 
ical, to  their  words. 

One  seemed  to  be  saying — "The  frozen  heart  of  age  might 
kindle  at  my  beauty." 

Another — "  I  love  to  lounge  upon  cushions,  and  think  with 
rapture  of  my  adorers." 

A  third,  a  neophyte  at  these  banquets,  was  inclined  to  blush. 
"  I  feel  remorse  in  the  depths  of  my  heart !  lam  a  Catholic, 
and  afraid  of  hell.  But  I  love  you,  I  love  you  so  that  I  can 
sacrifice  my  hereafter  to  you." 

The  fourth  drained  a  cup  of  Chian  wine.  "  Give  me  a 
joyous  life  !  "  she  cried  ;  "I  begin  life  afresh  each  day  with 
the  dawn.  Forgetful  of  the  past,  with  the  intoxication  of 
yesterday's  rapture  still  upon  me,  I  drink  deep  of  life — a 
whole  lifetime  of  pleasure  and  of  love  !  " 

The  woman  who  sat  next  to  Juan  Belvidero  looked  at  him 
with  a  feverish  glitter  in  her  eyes.  She  was  silent.  Then — 
"  I  should  need  no  hired  bravo  to  kill  my  lover  if  he  forsook 
me !  "  she  cried  at  last,  and  laughed,  but  the  marvelously 
wrought  comfit  box  in  her  fingers  was  crushed  by  her  con- 
vulsive clutch. 

"When  are  you  to  be  Grand  Duke?"  asked  the  sixth. 
There  was  the  frenzy  of  a  Bacchante  in  her  eyes,  and  her 
teeth  gleamed  between  the  lips  parted  with  a  smile  of  cruel 
glee. 

"Yes,  when  is  that  father  of  yours  going  to  die?"  asked 
the  seventh,  throwing  her  bouquet  at  Don  Juan  with  bewitch- 
ing playfulness.  It  was  a  childish  girl  who  spoke,  and  the 
speaker  was  wont  to  make  sport  of  sacred  things. 

"Oh  '  don't  talk  about  it,"  cried  Don  Juan,  the   young 


290  THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

and  handsome  giver  of  the  banquet.  "  There  is  but  one 
eternal  father,  and,  as  ill  luck  will  have  it,  he  is  mine." 

The  seven  Ferrarese,  Don  Juan's  friends,  the  prince  him- 
self, gave  a  cry  of  horror.  Two  hundred  years  later,  in  the 
days  of  Louis  XV.,  people  of  taste  would  have  laughed  at  this 
witticism.  Or  was  it,  perhaps,  that  at  the  outset  of  an  orgy 
there  is  a  certain  unwonted  lucidity  of  mind  ?  Despite  the 
taper  light,  the  clamor  of  the  senses,  the  gleam  of  gold  and 
silver,  the  fumes  of  wine,  and  the  exquisite  beauty  of  the 
women,  there  may  perhaps  have  been  in  the  depths  of  the 
revelers'  hearts  some  struggling  glimmer  of  reverence  for 
things  divine  and  human,  until  it  was  drowned  in  glowing 
floods  of  wine?  Yet  even  then  the  flowers  had  been  crushed, 
eyes  were  growing  dull,  and  drunkenness,  in  Rabelais'  phrase, 
had  "taken  possession  of  them  down  to  their  sandals." 

During  that  brief  pause  a  door  opened  ;  and  as  once  the 
Divine  presence  was  revealed  at  Belshazzar's  feast,  so  now  it 
seemed  to  be  manifest  in  the  apparition  of  an  old  white-haired 
servant,  who  tottered  in,  and  looked  sadly  from  under  knitted 
brows  at  the  revelers.  He  gave  a  withering  glance  at  the 
garlands,  the  golden  cups,  the  pyramids  of  fruit,  the  dazzling 
lights  of  the  banquet,  the  flushed  scared  faces,  the  hues  of  the 
cushions  pressed  by  the  white  arms  of  the  women. 

"  My  Lord,  your  father  is  dying  !  "  he  said  ;  and  at  those 
solemn  words,  uttered  in  hollow  tones,  a  veil  of  crape  seemed 
to  be  drawn  over  the  wild  mirth. 

Don  Juan  rose  to  his  feet  with  a  gesture  to  his  guests  that 
might  be  rendered  by,  "  Excuse  me;  this  kind  of  thing  does 
not  happen  every  day." 

Does  it  so  seldom  happen  that  a  father's  death  surprises 
youth  in  the  full-blown  splendor  of  life,  in  the  midst  of  the 
mad  riot  of  an  orgy  ?  Death  is  as  unexpected  in  his  caprice 
as  a  courtesan  in  her  disdain ;  but  death  is  truer — death  has 
never  forsaken  any  man. 

Don  Juan  closed  the  door  of  the  banqueting-hall ;  and  as 


THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  291 

he  went  down  the  long  gallery,  through  the  cold  and  darkness, 
he  strove  to  assume  an  expression  in  keeping  with  the  part  he 
had  to  play ;  he  had  thrown  off  his  mirthful  mood,  as  he  had 
thrown  down  his  table-napkin,  at  the  first  thought  of  this  role. 
The  night  was  dark.  The  mute  servitor,  his  guide  to  the 
chamber  where  the  dying  man  lay,  lighted  the  way  so  dimly 
that  death,  aided  by  cold,  silence,  and  darkness,  and  it  may 
be  by  a  reaction  of  drunkenness,  could  send  some  sober 
thoughts  through  the  spendthrift's  soul.  He  examined  his 
life,  became  thoughtful,  like  a  man  involved  in  a  lawsuit  on 
his  way  to  the  court. 

Bartolommeo  Belvidero,  Don  Juan's  father,  was  an  old  man 
of  ninety,  who  had  devoted  the  greatest  part  of  his  life  to 
business  pursuits.  He  had  acquired  vast  wealth  in  many  a 
journey  in  magical  Eastern  lands,  and  knowledge,  so  it  was 
said,  more  valuable  than  the  gold  and  diamonds,  which  had 
almost  ceased  to  have  any  value  for  him. 

"  I  would  give  more  to  have  a  tooth  in  my  head  than  for  a 
ruby,"  he  would  say  at  times  with  a  smile.  The  indulgent 
father  loved  to  hear  Don  Juan's  story  of  this  and  that  wild 
freak  of  youth.  "  So  long  as  these  follies  amuse  you,  dear 
boy  " — he  would  say  laughingly,  as  he  lavished  money  on  his 
son.  Age  never  took  such  pleasure  in  the  sight  of  youth ; 
the  fond  father  did  not  remember  his  own  decaying  powers 
while  he  looked  on  that  brilliant  young  life. 

Bartolommeo  Belvidero,  at  the  age  of  sixty,  had  fallen  in 
love  with  an  angel  of  peace  and  beauty.  Don  Juan  had  been 
the  sole  fruit  of  this  late  and  short-lived  love.  For  fifteen 
years  the  widower  had  mourned  the  loss  of  his  beloved  Juana  ; 
and  to  this  sorrow  of  age,  his  son  and  his  numerous  house- 
hold had  attributed  the  strange  habits  that  he  had  contracted. 
He  had  shut  himself  up  in  the  least  comfortable  wing  of  his 
palace,  and  very  seldom  left  his  apartments ;  even  Don  Juan 
himself  must  first  ask  permission  before  seeing  his  father.  If 
this  hermit,  unbound  by  vows,  came  or  went  in  his  palace  or 


292  THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

in  the  streets  of  Ferrara,  he  walked  as  if  he  were  in  a  dream, 
wholly  engrossed,  like  a  man  at  strife  with  a  memory,  or  a 
wrestler  with  some  thought. 

The  young  Don  Juan  might  give  princely  banquets,  the 
palace  might  echo  with  clamorous  mirth,  horses  pawed  the 
ground  in  the  courtyards,  pages  quarrelled  and  flung  dice 
upon  the  stairs,  but  Bartolommeo  ate  his  seven  ounces  of 
bread  daily  and  drank  water.  A  fowl  was  occasionally 
dressed  for  him,  simply  that  the  black  poodle,  his  faithful 
companion,  might  have  the  bones.  Bartolommeo  never  com- 
plained of  the  noise.  If  huntsmen's  horns  and  baying  dogs 
disturbed  his  sleep  during  his  illness,  he  only  said,  "Ah! 
Don  Juan  has  come  back  again."  Never  on  earth  has  there 
been  a  father  so  little  exacting  and  so  indulgent ;  and,  in 
consequence,  young  Belvidero,  accustomed  to  treat  his  father 
unceremoniously,  had  all  the  faults  of  a  spoiled  child.  He 
treated  old  Bartolommeo  as  a  wilful  courtesan  treats  an  elderly 
adorer;  buying  indemnity  for  insolence  with  a  smile,  selling 
good-humor,  submitting  to  be  loved. 

Don  Juan,  beholding  scene  after  scene  of  his  younger 
years,  saw  that  it  would  be  a  difficult  task  to  find  his  father's 
indulgence  at  fault.  Some  newborn  remorse  stirred  the 
depths  of  his  heart ;  he  felt  almost  ready  to  forgive  this  father 
now  about  to  die  for  having  lived  so  long.  He  had  an  acces- 
sion of  filial  piety,  like  a  thief's  return  in  thought  to  honesty 
at  the  prospect  of  a  million  adroitly  stolen. 

Before  long  Don  Juan  had  crossed  the  lofty,  chilly  suite  of 
rooms  in  which  his  father  lived  ;  the  penetrating  influences 
of  the  damp,  close  air,  the  mustiness  diffused  by  old  tapestries 
and  presses  thickly  covered  with  dust  had  passed  into  him, 
and  now  he  stood  in  the  old  man's  antiquated  room,  in  the 
repulsive  presence  of  the  death-bed,  beside  a  dying  fire.  A 
flickering  lamp  on  a  Gothic  table  sent  broad  uncertain  shafts 
of  light,  fainter  or  brighter,  across  the  bed,  so  that  the  dying 
man's  face  seemed  to  wear  a  different  look  at  every  moment. 


THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE  293 

The  bitter  wind  whistled  through  the  crannies  of  the  ill- 
fitting  casements;  there  was  a  smothered  sound  of  snow  lash- 
ing the  windows.  The  harsh  contrast  of  these  sights  and 
sounds  with  the  scenes  which  Don  Juan  had  just  quitted  was 
so  sudden  that  he  could  not  help  shuddering.  He  turned 
cold  as  he  came  towards  the  bed ;  the  lamp  flared  in  a  sudden 
vehement  gust  of  wind  and  lighted  up  his  father's  face  ;  the 
features  were  wasted  and  distorted  ;  the  skin  that  cleaved  to 
their  bony  outlines  had  taken  wan,  livid  hues,  all  the  more 
ghastly  by  force  of  contrast  with  the  white  pillows  on  which 
he  lay.  The  muscles  about  the  toothless  mouth  had  con- 
tracted with  pain  and  drawn  apart  the  lips ;  the  moans  that 
issued  between  them  with  appalling  energy  found  an  accom- 
paniment in  the  howling  of  the  storm  without. 

In  spite  of  every  sign  of  coming  dissolution,  the  most  strik- 
ing thing  about  the  dying  face  was  its  incredible  power.  It 
was  no  ordinary  spirit  that  wrestled  there  with  death.  The 
eyes  glared  with  strange  fixity  of  gaze  from  the  cavernous 
sockets  hollowed  by  disease.  It  seemed  as  if  Bartolommeo 
sought  to  kill  some  enemy  sitting  at  the  foot  of  his  bed  by 
the  intent  gaze  of  dying  eyes.  That  steady  remorseless  look 
was  the  more  appalling  because  the  head  that  lay  upon  the 
pillow  was  passive  and  motionless  as  a  skull  upon  a  doctor's 
table.  The  outlines  of  the  body,  revealed  by  the  coverlet, 
were  no  less  rigid  and  stiff;  he  lay  there  as  one  dead,  save  for 
those  eyes.  There  was  something  automatic  about  the  moan- 
ing sounds  that  came  from  the  mouth.  Don  Juan  felt  some- 
thing like  shame  that  he  must  be  brought  thus  to  his  father's 
bedside,  wearing  a  courtesan's  bouquet,  redolent  of  the  fra- 
grance of  the  banqueting-chamber  and  the  fumes  of  wine. 

"You  were  enjoying  yourself!"  the  old  man  cried  as  he 
saw  his  son. 

Even  as  he  spoke  the  pure  high  notes  of  a  woman's  voice, 
sustained  by  the  sound  of  the  viol  on  which  she  accompanied 
her  song,  rose  above  the  rattle  of  the  storm  against  the  case- 


294  THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

ments,  and  floated  up  to  the  chamber  of  death.  Don  Juan 
stopped  his  ears  against  the  barbarous  answer  to  his  father's 
speech. 

"  I  bear  you  no  grudge,  my  child,"  Bartolommeo  went  on. 

The  words  were  full  of  kindness,  but  they  hurt  Don  Juan  ; 
he  could  not  pardon  this  heart-searching  goodness  on  his 
father's  part. 

"  What  a  remorseful  memory  for  me  !  "  he  cried,  hypocrit- 
ically. 

"Poor  Juanino,"  the  dying  man  went  on  in  a  smothered 
voice,  "  I  have  always  been  so  kind  to  you,  that  you  could 
not  surely  desire  my  death?  " 

"  Oh,  if  it  were  only  possible  to  keep  you  here  by  giving 
up  a  part  of  my  own  life  !  "  cried  Don  Juan. 

("We  can  always  say  this  sort  of  thing,"  the  spendthrift 
thought ;  "  it  is  as  if  I  laid  the  whole  world  at  my  mistress' 
feet.") 

The  thought  had  scarcely  crossed  his  mind  when  the  old 
poodle  barked.  Don  Juan  shivered  ;  the  response  was  so  in- 
telligent that  he  fancied  the  dog  must  have  understood  him. 

"  I  was  sure  that  I  could  count  on  you,  my  son  !  "  cried 
the  dying  man.  "  I  shall  live.  So  be  it ;  you  shall  be  satis- 
fied. I  shall  live,  but  without  depriving  you  of  a  single  day 
of  your  life." 

"He  is  raving,"  thought  Don  Juan.  Aloud  he  added, 
"Yes,  dearest  father,  yes;  you  shall  live,  of  course,  as  long 
as  I  live,  for  your  image  will  be  forever  in  my  heart." 

"  It  is  not  that  kind  of  life  that  I  mean,"  said  the  old  noble, 
summoning  all  his  strength  to  sit  up  in  bed ;  for  a  thrill  of 
doubt  ran  through  him,  one  of  those  suspicions  that  come 
into  being  under  a  dying  man's  pillow.  "Listen,  my  son," 
he  went  on,  in  a  voice  grown  weak  with  that  last  effort,"  I 
have  no  more  wish  to  give  up  life  than  you  to  give  up  wine 
and  mistresses,  horses  and  hounds,  and  hawks  and  gold " 

"lean  well  believe  it,"  thought  the  son;  and  he  knelt 


THE   ELIXIR   OF  LIFE.  295 

down  by  the  bed  and  kissed  Bartolommeo's  cold  hands.  "But, 
father,  my  dear  father,"  he  added  aloud,  "  we  must  submit  to 
the  will  of  God." 

"  I  am  God  !  "  muttered  the  dying  man. 

"  Do  not  blaspheme  !  "  cried  the  other,  as  he  saw  the  men- 
acing expression  on  his  father's  face.  "  Beware  what  you 
say ;  you  have  received  extreme  unction,  and  I  should  be  in- 
consolable if  you  were  to  die  before  my  eyes  in  mortal  sin." 

"Will  you  listen  to  me?"  cried  Bartolommeo,  and  his 
mouth  twitched. 

Don  Juan  held  his  peace ;  an  ugly  silence  prevailed.  Yet 
above  the  muffled  sound  of  the  beating  of  the  snow  against 
the  windows  rose  the  sounds  of  the  beautiful  voice  and  the 
viol  in  unison,  far  off  and  faint  as  the  dawn.  The  dying  man 
smiled. 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  "for  bringing  those  singing  voices 
and  the  music,  a  banquet,  young  and  lovely  women  with 
fair  faces  and  dark  tresses,  all  the  pleasures  of  life  !  Bid 
them  wait  for  me;  for  I  am  about  to  begin  life  anew." 

"  The  delirium  is  at  its  height,"  said  Don  Juan  to  himself. 

"I  have  found  out  a  way  of  coming  to  life  again,"  the 
speaker  went  on.  "  There,  just  look  in  that  table  drawer, 
press  the  spring  hidden  by  the  griffin,  and  it  will  fly  open." 

"  I  have  found  it,  father." 

"  Well,  then,  now  take  out  a  little  phial  of  rock  crystal." 

"I  have  it." 

"  I  have  spent  twenty  years  in "  but  even  as  he  spoke 

the  old  man  felt  how  very  near  the  end  had  come,  and  sum- 
moned all  his  dying  strength  to  say,  "As  soon  as  the  breath 
is  out  of  me,  rub  me  all  over  with  that  liquid,  and  I  shall 
come  to  life  again." 

"  There  is  very  little  of  it,"  his  son  remarked. 

Though  Bartolommeo  could  no  longer  speak,  he  could  still 
hear  and  see.  When  those  words  dropped  from  Don  Juan, 
his  head  turned  with  appalling  quickness,  his  neck  was  twisted 


296  THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

like  the  throat  of  some  marble  statue  which  the  sculptor  has 
condemned  to  remain  stretched  out  forever,  the  wide  eyes  had 
come  to  have  a  ghastly  fixity. 

He  was  dead,  and  in  death  he  lost  his  last  and  sole  illusion. 

He  had  sought  a  shelter  in  his  son's  heart,  and  it  had 
proved  to  be  a  sepulchre,  a  pit  deeper  than  men  dig  for  their 
dead.  The  hair  on  his  head  had  risen  and  stiffened  with 
horror,  his  agonized  glance  still  spoke.  He  was  a  father  rising 
in  just  anger  from  his  tomb,  to  demand  vengeance  at  the 
throne  of  God. 

"There!  it  is  all  over  with  the  old  man!"  cried  Don 
Juan. 

He  had  been  so  interested  in  holding  the  mysterious  phial 
to  the  lamp,  as  a  drinker  holds  up  the  wine-bottle  at  the  end 
of  a  meal,  that  he  had  not  seen  his  father's  eyes  fade.  The 
cowering  poodle  looked  from  his  master  to  the  elixir,  just  as 
Don  Juan  himself  glanced  again  and  again  from  his  father  to 
the  flask.  The  lamplight  flickered.  There  was  a  deep  silence  ; 
the  viol  was  mute.  Juan  Belvidero  thought  that  he  saw  his 
father  stir,  and  trembled.  The  changeless  gaze  of  those  ac- 
cusing eyes  frightened  him ;  he  closed  them  hastily,  as  he 
would  have  closed  a  loose  shutter  swayed  by  the  wind  of  an 
autumn  night.  He  stood  there  motionless,  lost  in  a  world  of 
thought. 

Suddenly  the  silence  was  broken  by  a  shrill  sound  like  the 
creaking  of  a  rusty  spring.  It  startled  Don  Juan  ;  he  all  but 
dropped  the  phial.  A  sweat,  colder  than  the  blade  of  a 
dagger,  issued  through  every  pore.  It  was  only  a  piece  of 
clockwork,  a  wooden  cock  that  sprang  out  and  crowed  three 
times,  an  ingenious  contrivance  by  which  the  learned  of  that 
epoch  were  wont  to  be  awakened  at  the  appointed  hour  to 
begin  the  labors  of  the  day.  Through  the  windows  there 
came  already  a  flush  of  dawn.  The  thing,  composed  of  wood, 
and  cords,  and  wheels,  and  pulleys,  was  more  faithful  in  its 
service  than  he  in  his  duty  to  Bartolommeo — he,  a  man  with 


THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  297 

that  pecular  piece  of  human  mechanism  within  him,  that  we 
call  a  heart. 

Don  Juan  the  sceptic  shut  the  flask  again  in  the  secret 
drawer  in  the  gothic  table — he  meant  to  run  no  more  risks  of 
losing  the  mysterious  liquid. 

Even  in  that  solemn  moment  he  heard  the  murmur  of  a 
crowd  in  the  gallery,  a  confused  sound  of  voices,  of  stifled 
laughter  and  light  footfalls,  and  the  rustling  of  silks — the 
sounds  of  a  band  of  revelers  struggling  for  gravity.  The 
door  opened,  and  in  came  the  Prince  and  Don  Juan's  friends, 
the  seven  courtesans,  and  the  singers,  disheveled  and  wild  like 
dancers  surprised  by  the  dawn,  when  the  tapers  that  have 
burned  through  the  night  struggle  with  the  sunlight. 

They  had  come  to  offer  the  customary  condolence  to  the 
young  heir. 

"Oho!  is  poor  Don  Juan  really  taking  this  seriously?" 
said  the  Prince  in  Brambilla's  ear. 

"Well,  his  father  was  very  good,"  she  returned. 

But  Don  Juan's  night-thoughts  had  left  such  unmistakable 
traces  on  his  features,  that  the  crew  was  awed  into  silence. 
The  men  stood  motionless.  The  women,  with  wine-parched 
lips  and  cheeks  marbled  with  kisses,  knelt  down  and  began  a 
prayer.  Don  Juan  could  scarce  help  trembling  when  he  saw 
splendor  and  mirth  and  laughter  and  song  and  youth  and 
beauty  and  power  bowed  in  reverence  before  death.  But 
in  those  times,  in  that  adorable  Italy  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury, religion  and  revelry  went  hand  in  hand ;  and  religious 
excess  became  a  sort  of  debauch,  and  a  debauch  a  religious 
rite  ! 

The  Prince  grasped  Don  Juan's  hand  affectionately,  then 
when  all  faces  had  simultaneously  put  on  the  same  grimace — 
half-gloomy,  half-indifferent — the  whole  masque  disappeared, 
and  left  the  chamber  of  death  empty.  It  was  like  an  allegory 
of  life. 

As  they  went  down  the  staircase,  the  Prince  spoke  to  Riva- 


298  THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

barella :  ''Now,  who  would  have  taken  Don  Juan's  impiety 
for  a  boast  ?  He  loves  his  father." 

"  Did  you  see  that  black  dog?  "  asked  La  Brambilla. 

"  He  is  enormously  rich  now,"  sighed  Bianca  Cavatolino. 

"  What  is  that  to  me?  "  cried  the  proud  Veronese  (she  who 
had  crushed  the  comfit-box). 

"What  does  it  matter  to  you,  forsooth?"  cried  the  Duke. 
"With  his  money  he  is  as  much  a  prince  as  I  am." 

At  first  Don  Juan  was  swayed  hither  and  thither  by  count- 
less thoughts,  and  wavered  between  two  decisions.  He  took 
counsel  with  the  gold  heaped  up  by  his  father,  and  returned 
in  the  evening  to  the  chamber  of  death,  his  whole  soul  brim- 
ming over  with  hideous  selfishness.  He  found  all  his  house- 
hold busy  there.  "  His  lordship  "  was  to  lie  in  state  to-mor- 
row ;  all  Ferrara  would  flock  to  behold  the  wonderful  spec- 
tacle ;  and  the  servants  were  busy  decking  the  room  and  the 
couch  on  which  the  dead  man  lay.  At  a  sign  from  Don  Juan 
all  his  people  stopped,  dumbfounded  and  trembling. 

"  Leave  me  alone  here,"  he  said,  and  his  voice  was  changed," 
"and  do  not  return  till  I  leave  the  room." 

When  the  footsteps  of  the  old  servitor,  who  was  the  last  to 
go,  echoed  but  faintly  along  the  paved  gallery,  Don  Juan 
hastily  locked  the  door,  and,  sure  that  he  was  quite  alone, 
"  Let  us  try,"  he  said  to  himself. 

Bartolommeo's  body  was  stretched  on  a  long  table.  The 
embalmers  had  laid  a  sheet  over  it,  to  hide  from  all  eyes  the 
dreadful  spectacle  of  a  corpse  so  wasted  and  shrunken  that  it 
seemed  like  a  skeleton,  and  only  the  face  was  uncovered. 
This  mummy-like  form  lay  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  The 
limp  clinging  linen  conformed  itself  to  the  outlines  it  shrouded 
— so  sharp,  bony,  and  thin.  Large  violet  patches  had  already 
begun  to  spread  over  the  face;  the  embalmer's  work  had  not 
been  finished  too  soon. 

Don  Juan,  strong  as  he  was  in  his  scepticism,  felt  a  tremor 
as  he  opened  the  magic  crystal  flask.  When  he  stood  over 


THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  299 

that  face,  he  was  trembling  so  violently  that  he  was  actually 
obliged  to  wait  for  a  moment.  But  Don  Juan  had  acquired 
an  early  familiarity  with  evil ;  his  morals  had  been  corrupted 
by  a  licentious  court,  a  reflection  worthy  of  the  Duke  of 
Urbino  crossed  his  mind,  and  it  was  a  keen  sense  of  curiosity 
that  goaded  him  into  boldness.  The  devil  himself  might 
have  whispered  the  words  that  were  echoing  through  his  brain, 
Moisten  one  of  the  eyes  with  the  liquid !  He  took  up  a  linen 
cloth,  moistened  it  sparingly  with  the  precious  fluid,  and 
passed  it  lightly  over  the  right  eyelid  of  the  corpse.  The  eye 
unclosed. 

"Aha  !  "  said  Don  Juan.  He  gripped  the  flask  tightly,  as 
we  clutch  in  dreams  the  branch  from  which  we  hang  sus- 
pended over  a  precipice. 

For  the  eye  was  full  of  life.  It  was  a  young  child's  eye 
set  in  a  death's  head ;  the  light  quivered  in  the  depths  of  its 
youthful  liquid  brightness.  Shaded  by  the  long  dark  lashes, 
it  sparkled  like  the  strange  lights  that  travelers  see  in  lonely 
places  in  winter  nights.  That  eye  seemed  as  if  it  would  fain 
dart  fire  at  Don  Juan ;  he  saw  it  thinking,  upbraiding,  con- 
demning, uttering  accusations,  threatening  doom ;  it  cried 
aloud,  and  gnashed  upon  him.  All  anguish  that  shakes  hu- 
man souls  was  gathered  there ;  supplications  the  most  tender, 
the  wrath  of  kings,  the  love  in  a  girl's  heart  pleading  with 
the  headsman  ;  then,  and  after  all  these,  the  deeply  searching 
glance  a  man  turns  on  his  fellows  as  he  mounts  the  last  step 
of  the  scaffold.  Life  so  dilated  in  this  fragment  of  life  that 
Don  Juan  shrank  back ;  he  walked  up  and  down  the  room,  he 
dared  not  meet  that  gaze,  but  he  saw  nothing  else.  The  ceil- 
ing and  the  hangings,  the  whole  room  was  sown  with  living 
points  of  fire  and  intelligence.  Everywhere  those  gleaming 
eyes  haunted  him. 

"  He  might  very  likely  have  lived  another  hundred  years," 
he  cried  involuntarily.  Some  diabolical  influence  had  drawn 
him  to  his  father,  and  again  he  gazed  at  that  luminous  spark. 


300  THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

The  eyelid  closed  and  opened  again  abruptly ;  it  was  like  a 
woman's  sign  of  assent.  It  was  an  intelligent  movement. 
If  a  voice  had  cried,  "  Yes  !  "  Don  Juan  could  not  have  been 
more  startled. 

"What  is  to  be  done  ?  "  he  thought. 

He  nerved  himself  to  try  to  close  the  white  eyelid.  In 
vain. 

"Kill  it?  That  would  perhaps  be  parricide,"  he  debated 
with  himself. 

"Yes,"  the  eye  said,  with  a  strange  sardonic  quiver  of 
the  lid. 

"Aha  !  "  said  Don  Juan  to  himself,  "  here  is  witchcraft  at 
work!"  And  he  went  closer  to  crush  the  thing.  A  great 
tear  trickled  over  the  hollow  cheeks,  and  fell  on  Don  Juan's 
hand. 

"  It  is  scalding  !  "  he  cried.  He  sat  down.  This  struggle 
exhausted  him ;  it  was  as  if,  like  Jacob  of  old,  he  was 
wrestling  with  an  angel. 

At  last  he  rose.  "So  long  as  there  is  no  blood " 

he  muttered. 

Then,  summoning  all  the  courage  needed  for  a  coward's 
crime,  he  extinguished  the  eye,  pressing  it  with  the  linen 
cloth,  turning  his  head  away.  A  terrible  groan  startled  him. 
It  was  the  poor  poodle,  who  died  with  a  long-drawn  howl. 

"  Could  the  brute  have  been  in  the  secret?  "  thought  Don 
Juan,  looking  down  at  the  faithful  creature. 

Don  Juan  Belvidero  was  looked  upon  as  a  dutiful  son.  He 
reared  a  white  marble  monument  on  his  father's  tomb,  and 
employed  the  greatest  sculptors  of  the  time  upon  it.  He  did 
not  recover  perfect  ease  of  mind  till  the  day  when  his  father 
knelt  in  marble  before  religion,  and  the  heavy  weight  of  the 
stone  had  sealed  the  mouth  of  the  grave  in  which  he  had  laid 
the  one  feeling  of  remorse  that  sometimes  flitted  through  his 
soul  in  moments  of  physical  weariness. 


THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  301 

He  had  drawn  up  a  list  of  the  wealth  heaped  up  by  the  old 
merchant  in  the  East,  and  he  became  a  miser ;  had  he  not  to 
provide  for  a  second  lifetime?  His  views  of  life  were  the 
more  profound  and  penetrating;  he  grasped  its  significance, 
as  a  whole,  the  better,  because  he  saw  it  across  a  grave.  All 
men,  all  things,  he  analyzed  once  and  for  all ;  he  summoned 
up  the  past,  represented  by  its  records ;  the  present  in  the 
law,  its  crystallized  form  ;  the  future,  revealed  by  religion. 
He  took  spirit  and  matter,  and  flung  them  into  his  crucible, 
and  found — nothing.  Thenceforward  he  became  DON  JUAN. 

At  the  outset  of  his  life,  in  the  prime  of  youth  and  the 
beauty  of  youth,  he  knew  the  illusions  of  life  for  what  they 
were ;  he  despised  the  world,  and  made  the  utmost  of  the 
world.  His  felicity  could  not  have  been  of  the  bourgeois 
kind,  rejoicing  in  periodically  recurrent  boiled  meat,  in  the 
comforts  of  a  warming-pan,  a  lamp  of  a  night,  and  a  new  pair 
of  slippers  once  a  quarter.  Nay,  rather  he  seized  upon  exist- 
ence as  a  monkey  snatches  a  nut,  and  after  no  long  toying 
with  it,  proceeds  deftly  to  strip  off  the  mere  husks  to  reach 
the  savory  kernel  within. 

Poetry  and  the  sublime  transports  of  passion  scarcely 
reached  ankle-depth  with  him  now.  He  in  nowise  fell  into 
the  error  of  strong  natures  who  flatter  themselves  now  and 
again  that  little  souls  will  believe  in  a  great  soul,  and  are 
willing  to  barter  their  own  lofty  thoughts  of  the  future  for 
the  small  change  of  our  life-annuity  ideas.  He,  even  as 
they,  had  he  chosen,  might  well  have  walked  with  his  feet 
on  the  earth  and  his  head  in  the  skies ;  but  he  liked  better 
to  sit  on  earth,  to  wither  the  soft,  fresh,  fragrant  lips  of  a 
woman  with  kisses,  for,  like  death,  he  devoured  everything 
without  scruple  as  he  passed ;  he  would  have  full  fruition  ; 
he  was  an  Oriental  lover,  seeking  prolonged  pleasures  easily 
obtained.  He  sought  nothing  but  a  woman  in  women,  and 
cultivated  cynicism,  until  it  became  with  him  a  habit  of  mind. 
When  his  mistress,  from  the  couch  on  which  she  lay,  soared 
20 


302  THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

and  was  lost  in  regions  of  ecstatic  bliss,  Don  Juan  followed 
suit,  earnest,  expansive,  serious  as  any  German  student.  But 
he  said  "  I,"  while  she,  in  the  transports  of  intoxication,  said 
"  We."  He  understood  to  admiration  the  art  of  abandoning 
himself  to  the  influence  of  a  woman  ;  he  was  always  clever 
enough  to  make  her  believe  that  he  trembled  like  some  boy 
fresh  from  college  before  his  first  partner  at  a  dance,  when 
he  asks  her,  "Do  you  like  dancing?"  But,  no  less,  he 
could  be  terrible  at  need,  could  unsheath  a  formidable 
sword  and  make  short  work  of  commandants.  Banter 
lurked  beneath  his  simplicity,  mocking  laughter  behind  his 
tears — for  he  had  tears  at  need,  like  any  woman  nowadays 
who  says  to  her  husband,  "  Give  me  a  carriage,  or  I  shall 
go  into  a  consumption." 

For  a  merchant  the  world  is  a  bale  of  goods  or  a  mass 
of  circulating  bills ;  for  most  young  men  it  is  a  woman,  and 
for  a  woman  here  and  there  it  is  a  man  ;  for  a  certain  order  of 
mind  it  is  a  salon,  a  coterie,  a  quarter  of  the  town,  or  some 
single  city ;  but  Don  Juan  found  his  world  in  himself. 

This  model  of  grace  and  dignity,  this  captivating  wit, 
moored  his  bark  by  every  shore  ;  but  wherever  he  was  led 
he  was  never  carried  away,  and  was  only  steered  in  a  course 
of  his  own  choosing.  The  more  he  saw,  the  more  he 
doubted.  He  watched  men  narrowly,  and  saw  how,  be- 
neath the  surface,  courage  was  often  rashness ;  and  prudence, 
cowardice ;  generosity,  a  clever  piece  of  calculation  ;  justice, 
a  wrong;  delicacy,  pusillanimity;  honesty,  a  modus  vivendi ; 
and  by  some  strange  dispensation  of  fate,  he  must  see  that 
those  who  at  heart  were  really  honest,  scrupulous,  just,  gen- 
erous, prudent,  or  brave  were  held  cheaply  by  their  fellow- 
men. 

"  What  a  cold-blooded  jest !  "  said  he  to  himself.  "  It 
was  not  devised  by  a  God." 

From  that  time  forth  he  renounced  a  better  world,  and 
never  uncovered  himself  when  a  name  was  pronounced,  and 


THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  303 

for  him  the  carven  saints  in  the  churches  became  works  of  art. 
He  understood  the  mechanism  of  society  too  well  to  clash 
wantonly  with  its  prejudices ;  for,  after  all,  he  was  not  as 
powerful  as  the  executioner,  but  he  evaded  social  laws  with 
the  wit  and  grace  so  well  rendered  in  the  scene  with  M. 
Dimanche.  He  was,  in  fact,  Moliere's  Don  Juan,  Goethe's 
Faust,  Byron's  Manfred,  Mathurin's  Melmoth — great  allegor- 
ical figures  drawn  by  the  greatest  men  of  genius  in  Europe,  to 
which  Mozart's  harmonies,  perhaps,  do  no  more  justice  than 
Rossini's  lyre.  Terrible  allegorical  figures  that  shall  endure 
as  long  as  the  principle  of  evil  existing  in  the  heart  of  man 
shall  produce  a  few  copies  from  century  to  century.  Some- 
times the  type  becomes  half-human  when  incarnate  as  a 
Mirabeau,  sometimes  it  is  an  inarticulate  force  in  a  Bonaparte, 
sometimes  it  overwhelms  the  universe  with  irony  as  a  Rabe- 
lais; or,  yet  again,  it  appears  when  a  Marechal  de  Richelieu 
elects  to  laugh  at  human  beings  instead  of  scoffing  at  things, 
or  when  one  of  the  most  famous  of  our  ambassadors  goes  a 
step  further  and  scoffs  at  both  men  and  things.  But  the  pro- 
found genius  of  Juan  Belvidero  anticipated  and  resumed  all 
these.  All  things  were  a  jest  to  him.  He  was  the  life  of  a 
mocking  spirit.  All  men,  all  institutions,  all  realities,  all 
ideas  were  within  its  scope.  As  for  eternity,  after  half  an 
hour  of  familiar  conversation  with  Pope  Julius  II.  he  had  said, 
laughing — 

"  If  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  make  a  choice,  I  would 
rather  believe  in  God  than  in  the  devil;  power  combined 
with  goodness  always  offers  more  resources  than  the  spirit  of 
evil  can  boast." 

"Yes;  still  God  requires  repentance  in  this  present  world 


"So  you  always  think  of  your  indulgences,"  returned 
Don  Juan  Belvidero.  "  Well,  well,  I  have  another  life  in 
reserve  in  which  to  repent  of  the  sins  of  my  previous 
existence." 


304  THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

"  Oh,  if  you  regard  old  age  in  that  light,"  cried  the  Pope, 
"  you  are  in  danger  of  canonization." 

"  After  your  elevation  to  the  Papacy  nothing  is  incredible." 
And  they  went  to  watch  the  workmen  who  were  building  the 
huge  basilica  dedicated  to  Saint  Peter. 

"  Saint  Peter,  as  the  man  of  genius  who  laid  the  foundation 
of  our  double  power,"  the  Pope  said  to  Don  Juan,  "deserves 
this  monument.  Sometimes,  though,  at  night,  I  think  that  a 
deluge  will  wipe  all  this  out  as  with  a  sponge,  and  it  will  be 
all  to  begin  over  again." 

Don  Juan  and  the  Pope  began  to  laugh ;  they  understood 
each  other.  A  fool  would  have  gone  on  the  morrow  to  amuse 
himself  with  Julius  II.  in  Raphael's  studio  or  at  the  delicious 
Villa  Madama  ;  not  so  Belvidero.  He  went  to  see  the  Pope 
as  pontiff,  to  be  convinced  of  any  doubts  that  he  (Don  Juan) 
entertained.  Over  his  cups  the  Rovere  would  have  been 
capable  of  denying  his  own  infallibility  and  of  commenting 
on  the  Apocalypse. 

Nevertheless,  this  legend  has  not  been  undertaken  to  fur- 
nish materials  for  future  biographies  of  Don  Juan  ;  it  is  in- 
tended to  prove  to  honest  folk  that  Belvidero  did  not  die  in  a 
duel  with  stone,  as  some  lithographers  would  have  us  believe. 

When  Don  Juan  Belvidero  reached  the  age  of  sixty  he 
settled  in  Spain,  and  there  in  his  old  age  he  married  a  young 
and  charming  Andalusian  wife.  But  of  set  purpose  he  was 
neither  a  good  husband  nor  a  good  father.  He  had  observed 
that  we  are  never  so  tenderly  loved  as  by  women  to  whom  we 
scarcely  give  a  thought.  Dona  Elvira  had  been  devoutly 
brought  up  by  an  old  aunt  in  a  castle  a  few  leagues  from  San- 
Lucar  in  a  remote  part  of  Andalusia.  She  was  a  model  of 
devotion  and  grace.  Don  Juan  foresaw  that  this  would  be  a 
woman  who  would  struggle  long  against  a  passion  before 
yielding,  and  therefore  hoped  to  keep  her  virtuous  until  his 
death.  It  was  a  jest  undertaken  in  earnest,  a  game  of  chess 
which  he  meant  to  reserve  till  his  old  age.  Don  Juan  had 


THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  305 

learned  wisdom  from  the  mistakes  made  by  his  father,  Barto- 
lommeo  ;  he  determined  that  the  least  details  of  his  life  in  old 
age  should  be  subordinated  to  one  object — the  success  of  the 
drama  which  was  to  be  played  out  upon  his  deathbed. 

For  the  same  reason  the  largest  part  of  his  wealth  was 
buried  in  the  cellars  of  his  palace  at  Ferrara,  whither  he  sel- 
dom went.  As  for  the  rest  of  his  fortune,  it  was  invested  in 
.a  life  annuity,  with  a  view  to  give  his  wife  and  children  an 
interest  in  keeping  him  alive ;  but  this  Machiavellian  piece  of 
foresight  was  scarcely  necessary.  His  son,  young  Felipe  Bel- 
videro,  grew  up  as  a  Spaniard  as  religiously  conscientious  as 
his  father  was  irreligious,  in  virtue,  perhaps,  of  the  old  rule, 
"A  miser  has  a  spendthrift  son."  The  Abbot  of  San-Lucar 
was  chosen  by  Don  Juan  to  be  director  of  the  consciences  of 
the  Duchess  of  Belvidero  and  her  son  Felipe.  The  ecclesi- 
astic was  a  holy  man,  well  shaped  and  admirably  well  propor- 
tioned. He  had  fine  dark  eyes,  a  head  like  that  of  Tiberius, 
worn  with  fasting,  bleached  by  an  ascetic  life,  and,  like  all 
dwellers  in  the  wilderness,  was  daily  tempted.  The  noble 
lord  had  hopes,  it  may  be,  of  despatching  yet  another  monk 
before  his  term  of  life  was  out. 

But  whether  because  the  Abbot  was  every  whit  as  clever  as 
Don  Juan  himself,  or  Dona  Elvira  possessed  more  discretion 
or  more  virtue  than  Spanish  wives  are  usually  credited  with, 
Don  Juan  was  compelled  to  spend  his  declining  years  beneath 
his  own  roof,  with  no  more  scandal  under  it  than  if  he  had 
been  an  ancient  country  parson.  Occasionally  he  would  take 
wife  and  son  to  task  for  negligence  in  the  duties  of  religion, 
peremptorily  insisting  that  they  should  carry  out  to  the  letter 
the  obligations  imposed  upon  the  flock  by  the  Court  of  Rome. 
Indeed,  he  was  never  so  well  pleased  as  when  he  had  set  the 
courtly  Abbot  discussing  some  case  of  conscience  with  Dona 
Elvira  and  Felipe. 

At  length,  however,  despite  the  prodigious  care  that  the 
great  magnifico,  Don  Juan  Belvidero,  took  of  himself,  the 


.306  THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

days  of  decrepitude  came  upon  him,  and  with  those  days  the 
constant  importunity  of  physical  feebleness,  an  importunity 
all  the  more  distressing  by  contrast  with  the  wealth  of  mem- 
ories of  his  impetuous  youth  and  the  sensual  pleasures  of 
middle  age.  The  unbeliever  who  in  the  height  of  his  cynical 
humor  had  been  wont  to  persuade  others  to  believe  in  laws 
and  principles  at  which  he  scoffed,  must  repose  nightly  upon 
a  perhaps.  The  great  Duke,  the  pattern  of  good  breeding, 
the  champion  of  many  a  carouse,  the  proud  ornament  of 
courts,  the  man  of  genius,  the  graceful  winner  of  hearts  that 
he  had  wrung  as  carelessly  as  a  peasant  twists  an  osier  withe, 
was  now  the  victim  of  a  cough,  of  a  ruthless  sciatica,  of  an 
unmannerly  gout.  His  teeth  gradually  deserted  him,  as  at  the 
end  of  an  evening  the  fairest  and  best-dressed  women  take 
their  leave  one  by  one  till  the  room  is  left  empty  and  desolate. 
The  active  hands  became  palsy-stricken,  the  shapely  legs  tot- 
tered as  he  walked.  At  last,  one  night,  a  stroke  of  apoplexy 
caught  him  by  the  throat  in  its  icy  clutch.  After  that  fatal 
day  he  grew  morose  and  stern. 

He  would  reproach  his  wife  and  son  with  their  devotion,  cast- 
ing it  in  their  teeth  that  the  affecting  and  thoughtful  care  that 
they  lavished  so  tenderly  upon  him  was  bestowed  because  they 
knew  that  his  money  was  invested  in  a  life  annuity.  Then 
Elvira  and  Felipe  would  shed  bitter  tears  and  redouble  their 
caresses,  and  the  wicked  old  man's  insinuating  voice  would 
take  an  affectionate  tone — "Ah,  you  will  forgive  me,  will  you 
not,  dear  friends,  dear  wife?  I  am  rather  a  nuisance.  Alas, 
Lord  in  heaven,  how  canst  Thou  use  me  as  the  instrument  by 
which  Thou  provest  these  two  angelic  creatures?  I  who 
should  be  the  joy  of  their  lives  am  become  their  scourge " 

In  this  manner  he  kept  them  tethered  to  his  pillow,  blot- 
ting out  the  memory  of  whole  months  of  fretfulness  and  un- 
kindness  in  one  short  hour  when  he  chose  to  display  for  them 
the  ever-new  treasures  of  his  pinchbeck  tenderness  and 
charm  of  manner — a  system  of  paternity  that  yielded  him 


THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  307 

an  infinitely  better  return  than  his  own  father's  indulgence 
had  formerly  gained.  At  length  his  bodily  infirmities  reached 
a  point  when  the  task  of  laying  him  in  bed  became  as  diffi- 
cult as  the  navigation  of  a  felucca  in  the  perils  of  an  intri- 
cate channel.  Then  came  the  day  of  his  death ;  and  this 
brilliant  sceptic,  whose  mental  faculties  alone  had  survived 
the  most  dreadful  of  all  destructions,  found  himself  between 
his  two  special  antipathies — th%$loctor  and  the  confessor. 
But  he  was  jovial  with  them.  Did  he  not  see  a  light 
gleaming  in  the  future  beyond  the  veil  ?  The  pall  that  is 
like  lead  for  other  men  was  thin  and  translucent  for  him  ; 
the  light-footed,  irresistible  delights  of  youth  danced  beyond 
it  like  shadows. 

It  was  on  a  beautiful  summer  evening  that  Don  Juan  felt 
the  near  approach  of  death.  The  sky  of  Spain  was  serene 
and  cloudless;  the  air  was  full  of  the  scent  of  orange- 
blossom  ;  the  stars  shed  clear,  pure  gleams  of  light ;  nature 
without  seemed  to  give  the  dying  man  assurance  of '  resur- 
rection ;  a  dutiful  and  obedient  son  sat  there  watching  him 
with  loving  and  respectful  eyes.  Towards  eleven  o'clock 
he  desired  to  be  left  alone  with  this  single-hearted  being. 

"Felipe,"  said  the  father,  in  tones  so  soft  and  affection- 
ate that  the  young  man  trembled,  and  tears  of  gladness 
came  to  his  eyes ;  never  had  that  stern  father  spoken  his 
name  in  such  a  tone.  "Listen,  my  son,"  the  dying  man 
went  on.  "  I  am  a  great  sinner.  All  my  life  long,  how- 
ever, I  have  thought  of  my  death.  I  was  once  the  friend 
of  the  great  Pope  Julius  II. ;  and  that  illustrious  Pontiff, 
fearing  lest  the  excessive  excitability  of  my  senses  should 
entangle  me  in  mortal  sin  between  the  moment  of  my  death 
and  the  time  of  my  anointing  with  the  holy  oil,  gave  me  a 
flask  that  contains  a  little  of  the  holy  water  that  once  issued 
from  the  rock  in  the  wilderness.  I  have  kept  the  secret  of 
this  squandering  of  a  treasure  belonging  to  Holy  Church,  but 


308  THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

I  am  permitted  to  reveal  the  mystery  in  articulo  mortis  to  my 
son.  You  will  find  the  flask  in  a  drawer  in  that  Gothic  table 
that  always  stands  by  the  head  of  the  bed.  The  precious 
little  crystal  flask  may  be  of  use  yet  again  for  you,  dearest 
Felipe.  Will  you  swear  to  me,  by  your  salvation,  to  carry 
out  my  instructions  faithfully?  " 

Felipe  looked  at  his  father,  and  Don  Juan  was  too  deeply- 
learned  in  the  lore  of  the  human  countenance  not  to  die  in 
peace  with  that  look  as  his  warrant,  as  his  own  father  had 
died  in  despair  at  meeting  the  expression  in  his  son's  eyes. 

"  You  deserved  to  have  a  better  father,"  Don  Juan  went 
on.  "  I  dare  to  confess,  my  child,  that  while  the  reverend 
Abbot  of  San-Lucar  was  administering  the  Viaticum  I  was 
thinking  of  the  incompatibility  of  the  coexistence  of  two 
powers  so  infinite  as  God  and  the  devil " 

"Oh,  father  !" 

"And  I  said  to  myself,  when  Satan  makes  his  peace  he 
ought  surely  to  stipulate  for  the  pardon  of  his  followers,  or  he 
will  be  the  veriest  scoundrel.  The  thought  haunted  me  ;  so 
I  shall  go  to  hell,  my  son,  unless  you  carry  out  my  wishes." 

"  Oh,  quick;  tell  me  quickly,  father." 

"As  soon  as  I  have  closed  my  eyes,"  Don  Juan  went  on, 
"and  that  may  be  in  a  few  minutes,  you  must  take  my  body 
before  it  grows  cold  and  lay  it  on  a  table  in  this  room.  Then 
put  out  the  lamp ;  the  light  of  the  stars  should  be  sufficient. 
Take  off  my  clothes,  reciting  Aves  and  Paters  the  while, 
raising  your  soul  to  God  in  prayer,  and  carefully  anoint  my 
lips  and  eyes  with  this  holy  water;  begin  with  the  face,  and 
proceed  successively  to  my  limbs  and  the  rest  of  my  body ; 
my  dear  son,  the  power  of  God  is  so  great  that  you  must  be 
astonished  at  nothing." 

Don  Juan  felt  death  so  near,  that  he  added  in  a  terrible 
voice,  "  Be  careful  not  to  drop  the  flask." 

Then  he  breathed  his  last  gently  in  the  arms  of  his  son, 
and  his  son's  tears  fell  fast  over  his  sardonic,  haggard  features. 


THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  309 

It  was  almost  midnight  when  Don  Felipe  Belvidero  laid  his 
father's  body  upon  the  table.  He  kissed  the  sinister  brow 
and  the  gray  hair ;  then  he  put  out  the  lamp. 

By  the  soft  moonlight  that  lit  strange  gleams  across  the 
country  without,  Felipe  could  dimly  see  his  father's  body,  a 
vague  white  thing  among  the  shadows.  The  dutiful  son 
moistened  a  linen  cloth  with  the  liquid,  and,  absorbed  in 
prayer,  he  anointed  the  revered  face.  A  deep  silence  reigned. 
Felipe  heard  faint,  indescribable  rustlings  ;  it  was  the  breeze 
in  the  tree-tops,  he  thought.  But  when  he  had  moistented 
the  right  arm,  he  felt  himself  caught  by  the  throat,  a  young, 
strong  hand  held  him  in  a  tight  grip — it  was  his  father's  hand ! 
He  shrieked  aloud  ;  the  flask  dropped  from  his  hand  and 
broke  in  pieces.  The  liquid  evaporated ;  the  whole  house- 
hold hurried  into  the  room,  holding  torches  aloft.  That 
shriek  had  startled  them,  and  filled  them  with  as  much  terror 
as  if  the  trumpet  of  the  angel  sounding  on  the  last  day  had 
rung  through  earth  and  sky.  The  room  was  full  of  people, 
and  a  horror-stricken  crowd  beheld  the  fainting  Felipe  upheld 
by  the  strong  arm  of  his  father,  who  clutched  him  by  the 
throat.  They  saw  another  thing,  an  unearthly  spectacle — 
Don  Juan's  face  grown  young  and  beautiful  as  Antinoiis,  with 
its  dark  hair  and  brilliant  eyes  and  red  lips,  a  head  that  made 
horrible  efforts,  but  could  not  move  the  dead,  wasted 
body. 

An  old  servitor  cried,  "  A  miracle !  a  miracle!"  and  all 
the  Spaniards  echoed,  "  A  miracle  !  a  miracle  !  " 

Dona  Elvira,  too  pious  to  attribute  this  to  magic,  sent  for  the 
Abbot  of  San-Lucar;  and  the  Prior  beholding  the  miracle 
with  his  own  eyes,  being  a  clever  man,  and  withal  an  Abbot 
desirous  of  augmenting  his  revenues,  determined  to  turn  the 
occasion  to  profit.  He  immediately  gave  out  that  Don  Juan 
would  certainly  be  canonized ;  he  appointed  a  day  for  the 
celebration  of  the  apotheosis  in  his  convent,  which  thencefor- 
ward, he  said,  should  be  called  the  convent  of  San  Juan  of 


310  THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

Lucar.  At  these  words  a  sufficiently  facetious  grimace  passed 
over  the  features  of  the  late  Duke. 

The  taste  of  the  Spanish  people  for  ecclesiastical  solemnities 
is  so  well  known  that  it  should  not  be  difficult  to  imagine  the 
religious  pantomime  by  which  the  Convent  of  San-Lucar 
celebrated  the  translation  of  the  blessed  Don  Juan  Belvidero 
to  the  abbey-church.  The  tale  of  the  partial  resurrection  had 
spread  so  quickly  from  village  to  village,  that  a  day  or  two 
after  the  death  of  the  illustrious  nobleman  the  report  had 
reached  every  place  within  fifty  miles  of  San-Lucar,  and  it 
was  as  good  as  a  play  to  see  the  roads  covered  already  with 
crowds  flocking  in  on  all  sides,  their  curiosity  whetted  still 
further  by  the  prospect  of  a  Te  Deum  sung  by  torchlight. 
The  old  abbey-church  of  San-Lucar,  a  marvelous  building 
erected  by  the  Moors,  a  mosque  of  Allah,  which  for  three 
centuries  had  heard  the  name  of  Christ,  could  not  hold  the 
throng  that  poured  in  to  see  the  ceremony.  Hidalgos  in  their 
velvet  mantles,  with  their  good  swords  at  their  sides,  swarmed 
like  ants,  and  were  so  tightly  packed  in  among  the  pillars 
that  they  had  not  room  to  bend  the  knees,  which  never  bent 
save  to  God.  Charming  peasant  girls,  in  the  basquina  that 
defines  the  luxuriant  outlines  of  their  figures,  lent  an  arm  to 
white-haired  old  men.  Young  men,  with  eyes  of  fire,  walked 
beside  aged  crones  in  holiday  array.  Then  came  couples 
tremulous  with  joy,  young  lovers  led  thither  by  curiosity, 
newly-wedded  folk ;  children  timidly  clasping  each  other  by 
the  hand.  This  throng,  so  rich  in  coloring,  in  vivid  con- 
trasts, laden  with  flowers,  enameled  like  a  meadow,  sent  up  a 
soft  murmur  through  the  quiet  night.  Then  the  great  door 
of  the  church  opened. 

Late  comers  who  remained  without  saw  afar,  through  the 
three  great  open  doorways,  a  scene  of  which  the  theatrical 
illusions  of  modern  opera  can  give  but  a  faint  idea.  The  vast 
church  was  lighted  up  by  thousands  of  candles,  offered  by 
saints  and  sinners  alike  eager  to  win  the  favor  of  this  new  can- 


THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  311 

didate  for  canonization,  and  these  self-commending  illumina- 
tions turned  the  great  building  into  an  enchanted  fairyland. 
The  black  archways,  the  shafts  and  capitals,  the  recessed 
chapels  with  gold  and  silver  gleaming  in  their  depths,  the  gal- 
leries, the  Arab  traceries,  all  the  most  delicate  outlines  of  that 
delicate  sculpture,  burned  in  the  excess  of  light  like  the  fan- 
tastic figures  in  the  red  heart  of  a  brazier.  At  the  further  end 
of  the  church,  above  that  blazing  sea,  rose  the  high  altar  like 
a  splendid  dawn.  All  the  glories  of  the  golden  lamps  and 
silver  candlesticks,  of  banners  and  tassels,  of  the  shrines  of 
the  saints  and  votive  offerings,  paled  before  the  gorgeous 
brightness  of  the  reliquary  in  which  Don  Juan  lay.  The 
blasphemer's  body  sparkled  with  gems,  and  flowers,  and 
crystal,  with  diamonds  and  gold,  and  plumes  white  as  the 
wings  of  seraphim ;  they  had  set  it  up  on  the  altar,  where  the 
picture  of  Christ  had  stood.  All  about  him  blazed  a  host  of 
tall  candles  ;  the  air  quivered  in  the  radiant  light.  The 
worthy  Abbot  of  San-Lucar,  in  pontificial  robes,  with  his 
mitre  set  with  precious  stones,  his  rochet  and  golden  crosier, 
sat  enthroned  in  imperial  state  among  his  clergy  in  the 
choir.  Rows  of  impassive  aged  faces,  silver-haired  old  men 
clad  in  fine  linen  albs,  were  grouped  about  him,  as  the 
saints  who  confessed  Christ  on  earth  are  set  by  painters, 
each  in  his  place,  about  the  throne  of  God  in  heaven.  The 
precentor  and  the  dignitaries  of  the  chapter,  adorned  with 
the  gorgeous  insignia  of  ecclesiastical  vanity,  came  and  went 
through  the  clouds  of  incense,  like  stars  upon  their  courses 
in  the  firmament. 

When  the  hour  of  triumph  arrived,  the  bells  awoke  the 
echoes  far  and  wide,  and  the  whole  vast  crowd  raised  to 
God  the  first  cry  of  praise  that  begins  the  Te  Deum.  A 
sublime  cry  !  High,  pure  notes,  the  voices  of  women  in 
ecstasy,  mingled  in  it  with  the  sterner  and  deeper  voices 
of  men  ;  thousands  of  voices  sent  up  a  volume  of  sound  so 
mighty,  that  the  straining,  groaning  organ-pipes  could  not 


312  THE  ELIXIR    OF  LIFE. 

dominate  that  harmony.  But  the  shrill  sound  of  children's 
singing  among  the  choristers,  the  reverberation  of  deep  bass 
notes,  awakened  gracious  associations,  visions  of  childhood, 
and  of  man  in  his  strength,  and  rose  above  that  entrancing 
harmony  of  human  voices  blended  in  one  sentiment  of  love. 

Te  Deum  laudamus  ! 

The  chant  went  up  from  the  black  masses  of  men  and 
women  kneeling  in  the  cathedral,  like  a  sudden  breaking  out 
of  light  in  darkness,  and  the  silence  was  shattered  as  by  a 
peal  of  thunder.  The  voices  floated  up  with  the  clouds  of 
incense  that  had  begun  to  cast  thin  bluish  veils  over  the 
fanciful  marvels  of  the  architecture,  and  the  aisles  were 
filled  with  splendor  and  perfume  and  light  and  melody. 
Even  at  the  moment  when  that  music  of  love  and  thanks- 
giving soared  up  to  the  altar,  Don  Juan,  too  well  bred  not 
to  express  his  acknowledgments,  too  witty  not  to  understand 
how  to  take  a  jest,  bridled  up  in  his  reliquary,  and  responded 
with  an  appalling  burst  of  laughter.  Then  the  devil  having 
put  him  in  mind  of  the  risk  he  was  running  of  being  taken 
for  an  ordinary  man,  a  saint,  a  Boniface,  a  Pantaleone,  he 
interrupted  the  melody  of  love  by  a  yell  ;  the  thousand  voices 
of  hell  joined  in  it.  Earth  blessed,  Heaven  banned.  The 
church  was  shaken  to  its  ancient  foundations. 

Te  Deum  laudamus  !   cried  the  many  voices. 

"  Go  to  the  devil,  brute  beasts  that  you  are  !  Dios  !  Dios  ! 
Carajos  demonios  !  Idiots  !  What  fools  you  are  with  your 
dotard-God  !  "  and  a  torrent  of  imprecations  poured  forth  like 
a  stream  of  red-hot  lava  from  the  mouth  of  Vesuvius. 

"  Deus  Sabaoth  !  Sabaoth  !  "  cried  the  believers. 

"You  are  insulting  the  majesty  of  hell,"  shouted  Don 
Juan,  gnashing  his  teeth.  In  another  moment  the  living  arm 
struggled  out  of  the  reliquary,  and  was  brandished  over  the 
assembly  in  mockery  and  despair. 

"The  saint  is  blessing  us,"  cried  the  old  women,  children, 
lovers,  and  the  credulous  among  the  crowd. 


THE   ELIXIR    OF  LIFE.  313 

And  note  how  often  we  are  deceived  in  the  homage  we  pay  ; 
the  great  man  scoffs  at  those  who  praise  him,  and  pays  com- 
pliments now  and  again  to  those  whom  he  laughs  at  in  the 
depths  of  his  heart. 

Just  as  the  Abbot,  prostrate  before  the  altar,  was  chanting 
"  Sancte  Johannes  ora  pro  nobis  /  "  he  heard  a  voice  exclaim 
sufficiently  distinct :  "  O  coglione  /  " 

"  What  can  be  going  on  up  there?"  cried  the  sub-prior, 
as  he  saw  the  reliquary  move. 

"  The  saint  is  playing  the  devil,"  replied  the  Abbot. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  the  living  head  tore  itself  away  from  the 
lifeless  body,  and  dropped  upon  the  sallow  cranium  of  the 
officiating  priest. 

"  Remember  Dona  Elvira  !  "  cried  the  thing,  with  its  teeth 
set  fast  in  the  Abbot's  head. 

The  Abbot's  horror-stricken  shriek  disturbed  the  ceremony  ; 
all  the  ecclesiastics  hurried  up  and  crowded  about  their  chief. 

"  Idiot,  tell  us  now  if  there  is  a  God  !  "  the  voice  cried, 
as  the  Abbot,  bitten  through  the  brain,  drew  his  last  breath. 
PARIS,  October,  1830. 


A  STUDY  OF  WOMAN 

{Etude  de  Fetnme) 
Dedicated  to  the  Marquis  Jean- Charles  di  Negro. 

THE  Marquise  de  Listomere  is  a  young  woman  brought  up 
in  the  spirit  of  the  Restoration.  She  has  principles,  she  fasts 
in  season,  she  takes  the  sacrament,  she  goes  very  much  dressed 
to  balls,  to  the  Bouffons,  to  the  opera ;  her  spiritual  director 
allows  her  to  combine  the  sacred  and  the  profane.  Always 
on  good  terms  with  the  church  and  the  world,  she  is  an  incarna- 
tion of  the  present  time,  and  seems  to  have  taken  the  word 
"Legality"  for  her  motto.  The  Marquise's  conduct  is  marked 
by  exactly  enough  devotion  to  enable  her,  under  another 
Maintenon,  to  achieve  the  gloomy  piety  of  the  last  days  of 
Louis  XIV.,  and  enough  worldliness  to  adopt  the  manners  and 
gallantry  of  the  earlier  years  of  his  reign,  if  they  ever  could 
return. 

Just  now  she  is  virtuous  from  interest,  or,  perhaps,  by  taste. 
Married  some  seven  years  since  to  the  Marquis  de  Listomere, 
a  deputy  who  expects  a  peerage,  she  perhaps  thinks  that  her 
conduct  may  promote  the  ambitions  of  the  family.  Some 
women  wait  to  pass  judgment  on  her  till  Monsieur  de  Listo- 
mere is  made  Pair  de  France,  and  till  she  is  six-and-thirty — a 
time  of  life  when  most  women  discover  that  they  are  the  dupes 
of  social  laws. 

The  Marquis  is  an  insignificant  personage ;  he  is  in  favor 
at  court ;  his  good  qualities,  like  his  faults,  are  negative ;  the 
former  can  no  more  give  him  a  reputation  for  virtue  than  the 
latter  can  give  him  the  sort  of  brilliancy  bestowed  by  vice. 
As  a  deputy  he  never  speaks,  but  he  votes  "straight ;"  and  at 
(314) 


A   STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  315 

home,  he  behaves  as  he  does  in  the  Chamber.  He  is  con- 
sidered the  best  husband  in  France.  Though  he  is  incapable 
of  enthusiasms,  he  never  scolds,  unless  he  is  kept  waiting. 
His  friends  nickname  him  "Cloudy  weather;"  and,  in  fact, 
there  is  in  him  no  excessively  bright  light,  and  no  utter  dark- 
ness. He  is  exactly  like  all  the  ministers  that  have_succeeded 
each  other  in  France  since  the  charter. 

A  woman  with  principles  could  hardly  have  fallen  into 
better  hands.  Is  it  not  a  great  thing  for  a  virtuous  woman  to 
have  married  a  man  incapable  of  folly  ?  Dandies  have  been 
known  to  venture  on  the  impertinence  of  slightly  pressing  the 
Marquise's  hand  when  dancing  with  her;  they  met  only  looks 
of  scorn,  and  all  have  experienced  that  insulting  indifference 
which,  like  spring  frosts,  chills  the  germs  of  the  fairest  hopes. 
Handsome  men,  witty  men,  coxcombs,  sentimental  men  who 
derive  nourishment  from  sucking  the  knob  of  their  walking- 
sticks,  men  of  name  and  men  of  fame,  men  of  high  birth 
and  of  low,  all  have  blanched  before  her.  She  has  won  the 
right  of  talking  as  long  and  as  often  as  she  pleases  with  men 
whom  she  thinks  intelligent,  without  being  entered  in  the 
calendar  of  scandal.  Some  coquettes  are  capable  of  pursuing 
this  plan  for  seven  years  on  end,  to  gratify  their  fancy  at  last ; 
but  to  ascribe  such  a  covert  motive  to  Madame  de  Listomere 
would  be  to  calumniate  her.  I  had  been  so  fortunate  as  to 
meet  this  phoenix  of  a  marquise ;  she  talks  well,  I  am  a  good 
listener.  I  pleased  her,  and  I  go  to  her  evening  parties.  This 
was  the  object  of  my  ambition. 

Neither  plain  nor  pretty,  Madame  de  Listomere  has  white 
teeth,  a  brilliant  complexion,  and  very  red  lips ;  she  is  tall 
and  well  made,  has  a  small,  slender  foot,  which  she  does  not 
display ;  her  eyes,  far  from  being  dulled,  as  most  eyes  are  in 
Paris,  have  a  soft  gleam  which  becomes  magical  when  by 
chance  she  is  animated.  You  feel  there  is  a  soul  under  this 
ill-defined  personality.  When  she  is  interested  in  the  con- 
versation, she  reveals  the  grace  that  lies  buried  under  the 


316  A   STUDY  OF   WOMAN. 

prudery  of  cold  demeanor,  and  then  she  is  charming.  She 
does  not  crave  for  success,  and  she  gets  it.  We  always  find 
the  thing  we  do  not  seek.  This  statement  is  too  often  true 
not  to  become  a  proverb  one  day.  It  will  be  the  moral  of 
this  tale,  which  I  should  not  allow  myself  to  relate  if  it  were 
not  at  this  moment  the  talk  of  every  drawing-room  in  Paris. 

One  evening,  about  a  month  since,  the  Marquise  de  Lis- 
tomere  danced  with  a  young  man  as  modest  as  he  is  heedless, 
full  of  good  qualities,  but  showing  only  his  bad  ones;  he  is 
impassioned,  and  laughs  at  passion ;  he  has  talent,  and  hides 
it ;  he  assumes  the  savant  with  aristocrats,  and  affects  to  be 
aristocratic  with  savants. 

Eugene  de  Rastignac  is  one  of  those  very  sensible  young 
men  who  try  everything,  and  seem  to  sound  other  men  to  dis- 
cover what  the  future  will  bring  forth.  Pending  the  age  when 
he  will  be  ambitious,  he  laughs  at  everything ;  he  has  grace 
and  originality — two  qualities  which  are  rare,  because  they 
exclude  each  other.  Without  aiming  at  success,  he  talked  to 
Madame  de  Listomere  for  about  half  an  hour.  While  follow- 
ing the  deviations  of  a  conversation  which,  beginning  with 
William  Tell,  went  on  to  the  duties  of  woman,  he  looked  at 
the  Marquise  more  than  once  in  a  way  to  embarrass  her  ;  then 
he  left  her,  and  spoke  to  her  no  more  all  the  evening.  He 
danced,  sat  down  to  ecarte,  lost  a  little  money,  and  went  home 
to  bed.  I  have  the  honor  of  assuring  you  that  this  is  exactly 
what  happened.  I  have  added,  I  have  omitted  nothing. 

The  next  morning  Rastignac  woke  late,  remained  in  bed, 
where  he  gave  himself  up,  no  doubt,  to  some  of  those  morn- 
ing day-dreams  in  which  a  young  man  glides,  like  a  sylph, 
behind  more  than  one  curtain  of  silk,  wool,  or  cotton.  At 
such  moments,  the  heavier  the  body  is  with  sleep,  the  more 
nimble  is  the  fancy.  Finally  Rastignac  got  up  without  yawn- 
ing too  much,  as  so  many  ill-bred  people  do,  rang  for  his 
man-servant,  ordered  some  tea,  and  drank  of  it  immoderately 
— which  will  not  seem  strange  to  those  who  like  tea ;  but,  to 


A  STUDY  OF  WOMAN.  317 

account  for  this  to  those  persons  who  only  regard  tea  as  a 
panacea  for  indigestion,  I  will  add  that  Eugene  was  writing ; 
he  sat  at  his  ease,  and  his  feet  were  more  often  on  the  fire- 
dogs  than  in  his  foot-muff. 

Oh  !  to  sit  with  your  feet  on  the  polished  bar  that  rests  on 
the  two  brackets  of  a  fender,  and  dream  of  your  love  affairs 
while  wrapped  in  your  dressing-gown,  is  so  delightful  a  thing 
that  I  deeply  regret  having  no  mistress,  no  fire-dogs,  and  no 
dressing-gown.  When  I  shall  have  all  these  good  things,  I 
shall  not  write  my  experiences,  I  shall  take  the  benefit  of 
them. 

The  first  letter  Eugene  had  to  write  was  finished  in  a  quarter 
of  an  hour.  He  folded  it,  sealed  it,  and  left  it  lying  in  front 
of  him  without  any  address.  The  second  letter,  begun  at 
eleven  o'clock,  was  not  finished  till  noon.  The  four  pages 
were  written  all  over. 

"  That  woman  runs  in  my  head,"  said  he  to  himself  as  he 
folded  the  second  missive,  leaving  it  there,  and  intending  to 
address  it  after  ending  his  involuntary  reverie.  He  crossed 
the  fronts  of  his  flowered  dressing-gown,  put  his  feet  on  a 
stool,  stuffed  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his  red  cashmere 
trousers,  and  threw  himself  back  in  a  delicious  armchair  with 
deep  ears,  of  which  the  seat  and  back  were  set  at  the  com- 
fortable angle  of  a  hundred  and  twenty  degrees.  He  drank 
no  more  tea,  but  remained  passive,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  little 
gilt  fist  which  formed  the  knob  of  his  fire-shovel,  without 
seeing  the  shovel,  or  the  hand,  or  the  gilding.  He  did  not 
even  make  up  the  fire.  This  was  a  great  mistake  !  Is  it  not 
an  intense  pleasure  to  fidget  with  the  fire  when  dreaming  of 
women  ?  Our  fancy  lends  speech  to  the  little  blue  tongues 
which  suddenly  burst  up  and  babble  on  the  hearth.  We  can 
find  a  meaning  in  the  sudden  and  noisy  language  of  a 
bourguignon. 

At  this  word  I  must  pause  and  insert,  for  the  benefit  of  the 
ignorant,  an  explanation  vouchsafed  by  a  very  distinguished 
21 


318  A   STUDY  OF  WOMAN.\ 

etymologist,  who  wishes  to  remain  anonymous.  Bourguignon 
is  the  popular  and  symbolical  name  given,  ever  since  the  reign 
of  Charles  VI.,  to  the  loud  explosions  which  result  in  the 
ejection  on  to  a  rug  or  a  dress  of  a  fragment  of  charcoal,  the 
germ  of  a  conflagration.  The  heat,  it  is  said,  explodes  a 
bubble  of  air  remaining  in  the  heart  of  the  wood,  in  the  trail 
of  some  gnawing  grub.  Inde  amor,  inde  Burgundus.  We 
quake  as  we  see  the  charred  pieces  coming  down  like  an 
avalanche  when  we  had  balanced  them  so  industriously  be- 
tween two  blazing  logs.  Oh  !  making  up  a  wood-fire  when 
you  are  in  love  is  the  material  expression  of  your  sentiments. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  I  entered  Eugene's  room;  he 
started  violently,  and  said — 

"  So  there  you  are,  my  dear  Horace.  How  long  have  you 
been  here?" 

"  I  have  this  moment  come." 

"Ah!" 

He  took  the  two  letters,  addressed  them,  and  rang  for  his 
servant. 

"  Take  these  two  notes." 

And  Joseph  went  without  a  remark.     Excellent  servant ! 

And  we  proceeded  to  discuss  the  expedition  to  the  Morea, 
in  which  I  wanted  to  be  employed  as  surgeon.  Eugene 
pointed  out  that  I  should  lose  much  by  leaving  Paris,  and  we 
then  talked  of  different  things.  I  do  not  think  I  shall  be 
blamed  for  omitting  our  conversation. 

When  Madame  de  Listomere  rose  at  about  two  in  the  after- 
noon, her  maid  Caroline  handed  her  a  letter,  which  she  read 
while  Caroline  was  dressing  her  hair.  (An  imprudence  com- 
mitted by  a  great  many  young  wives.) 

"Ah,  dear  angel  of  love,  my  treasure  of  life  and  happi- 
ness! " — on  reading  these  words,  the  Marquise  was  going  to 
throw  the  letter  into  the  fire ;  but  a  fancy  flashed  through  her 
head,  which  any  virtuous  woman  will  understand  to  a  marvel, 
namely,  to  see  how  a  man  might  end  who  began  in  this  strain, 


A   STUDY  OF  WOMAN.  319 

She  read  on.  When  she  turned  her  fourth  page,  she  dropped 
her  arms  like  a  person  who  is  tired. 

"  Caroline,"  said  she,  "go  and  find  out  who  left  this  letter 
for  me." 

"  Madame,  I  took  it  from  M.  le  Baron  de  Rastignac's  man- 
servant." 

There  was  a  long  silence. 

"Will  Madame  dress  now?" 

"No." 

"  He  must  be  excessively  impertinent !  "  thought  the  Mar- 
quise. I  may  ask  any  woman  to  make  her  own  commentary. 

Madame  de  Listomere  closed  hers  with  a  formal  resolution 
to  shut  her  door  on  Monsieur  Eugene,  and,  if  she  should  meet 
him  in  company,  to  treat  him  with  more  than  contempt ;  for 
his  audacity  was  not  to  be  compared  with  any  of  the  other 
instances  which  the  Marquise  had  at  last  forgiven.  At  first 
she  thought  she  would  keep  the  letter,  but,  on  due  reflection, 
she  burned  it. 

"  Madame  has  just  received  such  a  flaming  love-letter,  and 
she  read  it !  "  said  Caroline  to  the  housemaid. 

"  I  never  should  have  thought  it  of  Madame,"  said  the  old 
woman,  quite  astonished. 

That  evening  the  Marquise  was  at  the  house  of  the  Marquise 
de  Beauseant,  where  she  would  probably  meet  Rastignac.  It 
was  a  Saturday.  The  Marquise  de  Beauseant  was  distantly 
related  to  Monsieur  de  Rastignac,  so  the  young  man  could 
not  fail  to  appear  in  the  course  of  the  evening.  At  two  in 
the  morning,  Madame  de  Listomere,  who  had  stayed  so  late 
solely  to  crush  Eugene  by  her  coldness,  had  waited  in  vain. 
A  witty  writer,  Stendahl,  has  given  the  whimsical  name  of 
crystallization  to  the  process  worked  out  by  the  Marquise's 
mind  before,  during,  and  after  this  evening. 

"  Four  days  later  Eugene  was  scolding  his  man-servant. 

"  Look  here,  Joseph;  I  shall  be  obliged  to  get  rid  of  you, 
my  good  fellow." 


320  A    STUDY   OF   WOMAN. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  sir  ?  " 

"  You  do  nothing  but  blunder.  Where  did  you  take  the 
two  letters  I  gave  you  on  Friday  ?  " 

Joseph  was  bewildered.  Like  a  statue  in  a  cathedral 
porch  he  stood  motionless,  wholly  absorbed  in  the  travail  of 
his  ideas.  Suddenly  he  smiled  foolishly,  and  said 

"  Monsieur,  one  was  for  Madame  la  Marquise  de  Listomere, 
Rue  Saint-Dominique,  and  the  other  was  for  Monsieur's 
lawyer " 

"  Are  you  sure  of  what  you  say  ?  " 

Joseph  stood  dumbfounded.  I  must  evidently  interfere — 
happening  to  be  present  at  the  moment. 

"Joseph  is  right,"  said  I.  Eugene  turned  round  to  me. 
"  I  read  the  addresses  quite  involuntarily,  and " 

"And,"  said  Eugene,  interrupting  me,  "was  not  one  of 
them  for  Madame  de  Nucingen  ?  " 

"  No,  by  all  the  devils  !  And  so  I  supposed,  my  dear  boy, 
that  your  heart  had  pirouetted  from  the  Rue  Saint-Lazare  to 
the  Rue  Saint-Dominique." 

Eugene  struck  his  forehead  with  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and 
began  to  smile.  Joseph  saw  plainly  that  the  fault  was  none 
of  his. 

Now,  there  are  certain  moral  reflections  on  which  all  young 
men  should  meditate.  Mistake  the  first :  Eugene  thought  it 
amusing  to  have  made  Madame  de  Listomere  laugh  at  the 
blunder  that  had  put  her  in  possession  of  a  love-letter  which 
was  not  intended  for  her.  Mistake  the  second  :  He  did  not 
go  to  see  Madame  de  Listomere  till  four  days  after  the  misad- 
venture, thus  giving  the  thoughts  of  a  virtuous  young  woman 
time  to  crystallize.  And  there  were  a  dozen  more  mistakes 
which  must  be  passed  over  in  silence  to  give  ladies  exprofesso 
the  pleasure  of  deducing  them  for  the  benefit  of  those  who 
cannot  guess  them. 

Eugene  arrived  at  the  Marquise's  door;  but  as  he  was 
going  in,  the  porter  stopped  him,  and  told  him  that  Madame 


A   STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  321 

de  Listomere  was  out.  As  he  was  getting  into  his  carriage 
again,  the  Marquis  came  in. 

"  Come  up,  Eugene,"  said  he;  "  my  wife  is  at  home." 

Oh !  forgive  the  Marquis.  A  husband,  however  admir- 
able, scarcely  ever  attains  to  perfection. 

Rastignac  as  he  went  upstairs  discerned  the  ten  fallacies 
in  worldly  logic  which  stood  on  this  page  of  the  fair  book 
of  his  life. 

When  Madame  de  Listomere  saw  her  husband  come  in 
with  Eugene,  she  could  not  help  coloring.  The  young  Baron 
observed  the  sudden  flush.  If  the  most  modest  of  men  never 
quite  loses  some  little  dregs  of  conceit,  which  he  can  no  more 
get  rid  of  than  a  woman  can  throw  off  her  inevitable  vani- 
ties, who  can  blame  Eugene  for  saying  to  himself,  "What  ! 
this  stronghold,  too  ?  " — and  he  settled  his  head  in  his  cravat. 
Though  young  men  are  not  very  avaricious,  they  all  love  to 
add  a  head  to  their  collection  of  medals. 

Monsieur  de  Listomere  seized  on  the  Gazette  de  France, 
which  he  saw  in  a  corner  by  the  fire-place,  and  went  to  the 
window  to  form,  by  the  help  of  the  newspaper,  an  opinion 
of  his  own  as  to  the  state  of  France.  No  woman,  not  even 
a  prude,  is  long  in  embarrassment  even  in  the  most  difficult 
situations  in  which  she  can  find  herself;  she  seems  always  to 
carry  in  her  hand  the  fig-leaf  given  to  her  by  our  mother 
Eve.  And  so,  when  Eugene,  having  interpreted  the  orders 
given  to  the  porter  in  a  sense  flattering  to  his  vanity,  made 
his  bow  to  Madame  de  Listomere  with  a  tolerably  deliberate 
air,  she  was  able  to  conceal  all  her  thoughts  behind  one  of 
those  feminine  smiles,  which  are  more  impenetrable  than  a 
king's  speech. 

"Are  you  unwell,  Madame?     You  had  closed  your  door." 

"  No,  Monsieur." 

"  You  were  going  out  perhaps  ?  " 

"Not  at  all." 

"You  are  expecting  somebody  ?  " 


322  A   STUDY  OF   WOMAtf. 

"  Nobody." 

"If  my  visit  is  ill-timed,  you  have  only  the  Marquis  to 
blame.  I  was  obeying  your  mysterious  orders  when  he  him- 
self invited  me  into  the  sanctuary." 

"  Monsieur  de  Listomere  was  not  in  my  confidence.  There 
are  certain  secrets  which  it  is  not  always  prudent  to  share  with 
one's  husband." 

The  firm,  mild  tone  in  which  the  Marquise  spoke  these 
words,  and  the  imposing  dignity  of  her  glance,  were  enough 
to  make  Rastignac  feel  that  he  had  been  in  too  much  haste  to 
plume  himself. 

"I  understand,  Madame,"  said  he,  laughing;  "I  must 
therefore  congratulate  myself  all  the  more  on  having  met 
Monsieur  le  Marquis ;  he  has  procured  me  an  opportunity  for 
offering  you  an  explanation,  which  would  be  fraught  with 
danger,  but  that  you  are  kindness  itself." 

The  Marquise  looked  at  the  young  Baron  with  considerable 
astonishment,  but  she  replied  with  dignity. 

"On  your  part,  Monsieur,  silence  will  be  the  best  excuse. 
On  my  side  I  promise  you  to  forget  entirely — a  forgiveness 
you  scarcely  merit. 

"  Forgiveness  is  needless,  Madame,  where  there  has  been 
no  offence.  The  letter  you  received,"  he  added  in  an  under- 
tone, "  and  which  you  must  have  thought  so  unseemly,  was 
not  intended  for  you." 

The  Marquise  smiled  in  spite  of  herself;  she  wished  to 
appear  offended. 

"Why  tell  a  falsehood?"  she  replied  with  an  air  of  dis- 
dainful amusement,  but  in  a  very  friendly  tone.  "  Now  that 
I  have  scolded  you  enough,  I  am  quite  ready  to  laugh  at  a 
stratagem  not  devoid  of  skill.  I  know  some  poor  women  who 
would  be  caught  by  it.  "  Good  heavens,  how  he  loves  me  !  " 
they  would  say.  She  forced  a  laugh,  and  added  with  an 
indulgent  air,  "If  we  are  to  remain  friends,  let  me  hear 
nothing  more  of  mistakes  of  which  I  cannot  be  the  dupe." 


A   STUDY  OF   WOMAN.  323 

"  On  my  honor,  Madame,  you  are  far  more  so  than  you 
fancy,"  Eugene  eagerly  replied. 

"  What  are  you  talking  about  ?  "  asked  Monsieur  de  Listo- 
mere, who  for  a  minute  had  been  listening  to  the  conver- 
sation, without  being  able  to  pierce  the  darkness  of  its 
meaning. 

"Oh,  nothing  that  will  interest  you,"  said  Madame  de 
Listomere. 

The  Marquis  quietly  returned  to  his  paper,  saying,  "I 
see  Madame  de  Mortsauf  is  dead  ;  your  poor  brother  is  at 
Clochegourde  no  doubt." 

"Do  you  know,  Monsieur,"  said  the  Marquise,  address- 
ing Eugene,  "  that  you  have  just  made  a  very  impertinent 
speech?" 

"If  I  did  not  know  the  strictness  of  your  principles," 
he  replied  simply,  "  I  should  fancy  you  either  meant  to 
put  ideas  into  my  head  which  I  dare  not  allow  myself,  or 
to  wring  my  secret  from  me  ;  or  perhaps,  indeed,  you  wish 
to  make  fun  of  me." 

The  Marquise  smiled.  This  smile  put  Eugene  out  of 
patience. 

"  May  you  always  believe,  Madame,  in  the  offence  I  did 
not  commit !  "  said  he.  "And  I  fervently  hope  that  chance 
may  not  lead  you  to  discover  in  society  the  person  who  was 
intended  to  read  that  letter " 

"  What !  Still  Madame  de  Nucingen  ?  "  cried  Madame  de 
Listomere,  more  anxious  to  master  the  secret  than  to  be 
revenged  on  the  young  man  for  his  retort. 

Eugene  reddened.  A  man  must  be  more  than  five-and- 
twenty  not  to  redden  when  he  is  blamed  for  the  stupid 
fidelity  which  women  laugh  at  only  to  avoid  betraying  how 
much  they  envy  its  object.  However,  he  said,  calmly 
enough,  "Why  not,  Madame?" 

These  are  the  blunders  we  commit  at  five-and-twenty. 
This  confession  agitated  Madame  de  Listomere  violently; 


324  A   STUDY  OF  WOMAN. 

but  Eugene  was  not  yet  able  to  analyze  a  woman's  face 
as  seen  in  a  glimpse,  or  from  one  side.  Only  her  lips 
turned  white.  She  rang  to  have  some  wood  put  on  the  fire, 
and  so  obliged  Eugene  to  rise  to  take  leave.  "If  that  is  the 
case,"  said  the  Marquise,  stopping  Eugene  by  her  cold,  pre- 
cise manner,  "  you  will  find  it  difficult,  Monsieur,  to  explain 
by  what  chance  my  name  happened  to  come  to  your  pen.  An 
address  written  on  a  letter  is  not  like  the  first-come  crush  hat 
which  a  man  may  heedlessly  take  for  his  own  on  leaving  a 
ball." 

Eugene,  put  quite  out  of  countenance,  looked  at  the  Mar- 
quise with  a  mingled  expression  of  stupidity  and  fatuous- 
ness ;  he  felt  that  he  was  ridiculous,  stammered  out  some 
schoolboy  speech,  and  left.  A  few  days  later  Madame  de 
Listomere  had  indisputable  proof  of  Eugene's  veracity. 

For  more  than  a  fortnight  she  has  not  gone  into  society. 

The  Marquis  tells  every  one  who  asks  him  the  reason  of  this 
change — 

"  My  wife  has  a  gastric  attack." 

I,  who  attend  her,  and  who  know  her  secret,  know  that 
she  is  only  suffering  from  a  little  nervous  crisis,  and  takes 
advantage  of  it  to  stay  quietly  at  home. 

PARIS,  February,  1839. 


Jvn 


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